Bending Supernatural Reality
by MethuselahPixie
Summary: "This isn't funny Dean, the voice says I'm almost out of minutes. " This is a Destiel fanfiction. Dean and Castiel. I do not understand fully the need I have to ship them, but obviously you may relate. Enjoy.
1. The Usual

_This is your one and only Destiel warning. _

_Dean and Castiel... will be getting involved with one another._

_... Sexually._

_Thought you ought to know._

Bursting in, Dean's heavy footsteps scuffed over the hardwood floor, the door slamming behind him. Dust curled in the bright golden sunlight streaming through the window where he walked. The day had been cool but still. No wind followed him. He threw his father's journal onto the bed and began to pace. Worry creased his fine features, and lay heady on his shoulders. His green canvas jacket seemed to weigh on him. As he moved about the room, his boots dragged. His usually bright eyes were clouded. They cast about the room with a twinge of nostalgia. He sank into a chair and slid back, gripping the arm rests with both hands, and anxiety loosened its grip on him.

This room was heavy with wear. Many people had come and gone from this room. They had gotten drunk, stewed for hours over crap TV, and fallen dead asleep in these beds. Kids had drifted off beside slumbering siblings, mounded in blankets; some had been looked over by lovers and guardians of all sorts. He had seen thousands of places just like this over the years. Thousands of rooms, filled with thousands of memories – many not his own. He couldn't even begin to describe his attachment to these cheap motels. They were like a piece of his childhood. He remembered the travel with his father – the long nights watching over Sam. The bowls of cereal, the pouting and parent faking, and days staring out dusty windows. Just waiting. Waiting for Dad to get back.  
Dean leaned forward and put his face in his hands. Sam had gone out on a hunt by himself, not two hours ago, after they had butted heads again. Demons again. Crowley and his minions. Damn demons. 'No more deals!' He had shouted. Then Sam had taken his backpack and hiked off without looking back. But he'd be back. Of course he would.

"Dammit," Dean whispered, and got up abruptly, stalking to the table. There waiting for him was a few shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey. In his hands, the bottle was smooth and cold. The cork popped out easily. He poured himself a shot and sighed, swirling the rich liquid around before downing it. Sam was out there and back from perdition and he couldn't even keep him grounded long enough to make sure he was gonna be ok.  
"Dean." Came a voice, and Dean jumped out of his skin. Turning, he saw Castiel standing in the center of the room, looking as if he'd just walked there all the way from Texas. He was all shadowed blue eyes and set jaw, his clothes mussed more than usual with dirt and dust, and blood all over his hands, as well as streaked on his face.  
Confusion drew over Dean's face. He crossed the room in two steps and put aside his shot glass. "Cas? Jesus, what happened to you?"  
Castiel glanced at Dean up and down, sighing. "Raphael's men. I think I'm getting to him." He looked around the room, eyebrows knitting. "Where is Sam?"  
"Hunting," Dean replied gruffly. "He wanted to go off on his own for a while. Why?"  
The awkward understanding that they had fought hung in the air a few seconds before Castiel gave him a look and glanced off again. "I see. No reason; I believe Sam knows how to fend for himself."  
"Yeah. You and me both." Dean sighed. "You're still bleeding. How long does it take for you to heal again?"

Castiel looked at the mirror through the open bathroom door and squinted at himself, as if annoyed at the blood. "I'll probably be healed up by morning."  
Walking into the bathroom, Dean reached for some washcloths and ran them under the tap, squeaking the handle as he turned it off again. He wrung them out. The excess water rained back into the worn white sink, trickling down the drain with distinct 'plips,' like creek water rushing over rocks. He turned and motioned to the Angel's wound. "Well, until then you should take care of that," he pointed out, walking back and approaching the Angel with his hand extended to clean the blood off his forehead. He drew back at first, and Dean gave him a look. "Come on, man. It's just water."  
"Yes," Castiel replied shortly. "But it is still painful to the touch. It will heal on its own."  
"Don't be a baby," Dean shot back, handing him two of the rags. "Your hands too, serial killer, before you get it on something and the maids report us." Hesitantly, Castiel took the rags, but he stood very still as Dean began to clean the slash on his forehead. No one had really done this for him before, he assumed. He'd probably just always wandered around until he was healed. The Angel blinked rapidly in discomfort at the cold on his aching forehead, though he did not move, staring fixedly at Dean's shirt collar to focus on not moving. With a trained touch Dean cleaned up the cut and bobbed his head. "There." Castiel looked up and was staring at him oddly, so with a devious smirk Dean pushed a smudge of dirt off the Angel's cheek with a clean corner of the cloth. Mildly startled, Castiel flinched and looked at Dean curiously. His reaction made Dean chuckle. He shook his head, "You can handle a war but simple stuff shocks you. Sometimes I forget you didn't grow up and do all this, you just popped into Jimmy there. Hands, Cas," he said as he turned and headed back into the bathroom. "If we only ruin one of these things someone's bound to get suspicious."  
Going to touch his cheek to feel the cool there, Castiel thought better of it, seeing as his hands were still messy. "Not entirely unpleasant. But I still believe it unnecessary," Castiel muttered as he cleaned off his hands. "When I teleport, it would have just vanished." Red soaked the wash cloths.  
With a shrug Dean poured two shots of whiskey, bottle clinking glass. "Well, you haven't gone anywhere yet, and if you ever get stuck as one of us you'll know how." He brought Castiel a glass as he finished cleaning off his hands. "Not to say I'm not glad to see you, but why did you decide to pop in, if you don't mind my asking?"  
Clean fingers closed around the glass and Castiel nodded to Dean. "I came to make sure you boys were all right." He handed Dean the cloths and looked down at the drink. "When they come after me, they use more forces than when confronting the two of you, but I dislike the idea of you facing any Angels on your own. Even together - the two of you - they're a tough crowd to beat."  
"You just said Sam would be fine, though?" Dean questioned as he tossed the soiled cloths on the floor of the bathroom and going to sit on the end of the bed. Sinking down and creating creases into the thin blue comforter, he leaned his elbow on his knees and sipped his drink, squinting at the quiet man. "So what's the big deal? We're invisible, right?"  
Castiel's eyes flickered. He turned away and sipped the drink, walking to the window. "Raphael's Angels are unpredictable. I see now you are unhindered but he may send them soon. I don't wish to leave before they arrive, if they do arrive." The light slid away, sinking over the hoods of the cars in the parking lot, and the lampposts outside flickered to life. Their glow crept onto Castiel through the curtains and profiled him in dim white light; the point of his nose, the part of his lips. His eyes took on a pale glimmer. "You are indeed hidden specifically, as in your location, but he has… informants." The hair on the back of Dean's neck bristled. So Sam may still be in danger. He gripped his glass angrily and glared at it. And they'd separated. Again. Castiel looked over at him, the light spilling over his curious expression. "I am sure Sam doesn't wish to be bothered with my protection right now." He walked over to Dean. "But I do intend to remain here for the moment, just to be safe."

"A sleep over, Cas?" Dean laughed. "Really?"

"I do not sleep," came the irritated reply. "But yes. I believe it necessary, and for now I finally have time to spare. My plans are in a stage I need not govern."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?"

Castiel finished the drink with one easy swallow. "Yes. Any more of this?"

"Plenty," Dean smirked, motioning to the table.


	2. Surprise!

Castiel followed his indication and went to pour himself more. "So…" Cradling his glass he studied his Angel in a trench coat. "Can I ask you something, Cas?"

"Anything," Castiel replied simply as he picked up his refilled glass.

Rubbing his face, Dean took a breath, "How come you're so anal about looking after us?" The look he received in return was one of morbid curiosity. "I mean, we're friends, but we handled ourselves just fine before you came along," he explained.

"You mean… besides dying a few times and creating a large rift between your brother and yourself?" Sarcasm dripped of Castiel like the excess water off the washcloths. If looks could kill, he'd have been struck down where he stood, because that had tweaked Dean a tad. The Angel lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "You and Sam taught me much of what I am using to right the wrongs done to this world. I'm no God, but I was nothing but a soldier before I met the two of you. You changed me – normal men, who think nothing of yourselves. You are… important to me." He managed. "We are bonded."

The room filled with a comfortable silence. In that time, both men took a drought from their drinks, as one of them accepted the statement made and the other tried to think of another way to express his gratitude. Hazel eyes softened, Dean nodded slowly, his acknowledgement deeper than it appeared to be. "I guess that's true." He looked up at his friend and met his conflicted gaze.

"You guess?" Castiel blurted, obviously confused at his understatement. "Dean, you claimed once that you thought of me as a brother." Of course, it was an understatement used to avoid any kind of deeper, heavier nostalgia – Dean had had enough of that for one day – but to the Angel it was quite a brush-off.

Dean blinked. "Yeah. I know, I know I did. I get you." Castiel put down his glass on the table with a loud noise and quickly drew up to Dean, who leaned back in surprise. "Cas-"

The Angel got very up close and personal. "I don't believe you do, 'get me,' " he said darkly. Dean was struck a bit speechless by his intensity. He opened and closed his mouth, searching for words of apology, knowing full well it would not fix what he'd accidentally done, when the space between them closed very, very rapidly - and he found himself in the middle of a 'Danny and Sandy' with Castiel. The scent of whiskey and open air and a grassy hill right after a heavy rain filled his nose, the scratchy prick of Castiel's shadow beard tickling his cheek. A sharp shiver went through Dean's entire body. He jumped back in instinct and broke the hold on his lips Castiel had. He perched, with acute alarm, on the corner of the bed, where he then lost his grip and stumbled and fell back onto the carpet; much to the confusion of his attacker, as it were. "Dean?" Castiel asked, looking over to see what was wrong.

"CAS." Dean barked, flushed with adrenaline and shock, eyes wide as dinner plates. "What the hell was that?! Did you just-?!"

"… My apologies… I suppose it's less customary for men to kiss than I was lead to believe…"

"Ya think?!" Dean got up stiffly and dusted himself off, eyeing the Angel. "What was that even for, anyway?" He demanded.

Castiel watched him closely, an awkward shyness creeping over him. "I was expressing my appreciation," he stammered. "I… often see people do this sort of exchange in similar situations. Well, I have before, that is."


	3. Angels

The taste of blood and whiskey on soft lips spun like a tornado through Dean's head, and he shook it violently, trying to throw it out of his mind. "You been watching my porn again?" The blank look on Castiel's face made Dean groan. "Cas, that stuff isn't… You shouldn't just… Dammit, just forget about it!" He snapped.

Castiel flinched at his anger. "I'm sorry, Dean. I did not know it would upset you like this," he replied, genuinely concerned, "I shouldn't have gone through with it – it was a shot in the dark, and I have little experience with firearms." Dean, still reeling, sat down on Sam's bed and stared at him. Castiel lowered his eyes from the heat in the man's gaze. A pause built up between them.

"That's all, right?" Dean spoke up.

Dark eyebrows knitted over blue eyes as Castiel looked up once more. "What's all?"

"That's the only reason you did it, right?" Dean pushed. "Appreciation?" Castiel withdrew a bit from Dean, first looking over to an empty corner and then walking to the other side of the room with a casual gait. Dean's pressing fury followed him. "Cas," Dean warned, when nothing was said in reply.

"Affection too, I suppose," Castiel replied with innocence, as he observed the seamless line of pink carpet to hardwood by the door. Dean nearly fainted. "Admiration. A bit of anger," the Angel continued obliviously, "after all, I am at war with my blood over you. I went to Hell more times than any  
Angel ever should – or anything for that matter, besides a demon and Lucifer – for the both of you. I bloodied my hands, and got to smite quite a few things, and people. It was… satisfying, to say the least, but I have taken the responsibility of being your guardian because of it. All of it." He turned to see Dean drinking in large gulps from the whiskey bottle. "I'm upsetting you further, I take it?"

"Not at all," Dean cleared his throat after one more swallow and slammed the bottle down.

Castiel sighed. "I should have known not to elaborate."

"No no, it's fine. Totally. Fine."

"Dean-"

"I said its fine!"

"… You're upset with me…"

"I AM NOT UPSET WITH YOU."

"Dean…"

"I SAID I'M NOT UPSET, OK?" He snatched up the whiskey bottle and started for the bathroom. "Jesus, Cas."

Castiel teleported in front of Dean, making him halt, and stared very piercingly into his face. "If you are not upset, why are you angry?" He asked matter-of-factly.

"Hey, whoa!" Sputtering, Dean recovered quick enough to give him a dirty look. "Maybe because you just smooched me, lover boy, ever think of that?" He lashed, taking another swig off the bottle.

"Since when does a kiss anger you? I've seen you kiss plenty of women." Castiel protested.

Dean stalked passed him, "I don't have to explain myself to you."

Castiel watched him go. "It wasn't a bad kiss, if that's the problem."

Dean made a motion like he was strangling the air in several different places and laughed sardonically, smacking his forehead at the end of the complex motion. "Because that's EXACTLY my PROBLEM. Because two dudes kissing isn't WRONG as all get-out!" He snarled, and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

Castiel winced at the noise and sighed. He turned and walked off, vanishing before he walked into the wall, leaving not even a breath of disturbed air behind.

"I hope you don't want any more of this!" Dean called from the bathroom, putting the whiskey down on the bathroom counter with a glass-on-ceramic 'clink.' He glanced at the bloodied rags on the floor and wondered briefly if Castiel was injured anywhere else he was ignoring. When he heard no answer after a minute, he opened the door again curiously, and was relieved to see the room empty.

"Must've gone to make a perimeter or something," he muttered, walking out and taking his whiskey, setting it on the night table. Then he kicked off his boots and lay back on the bed.

His body was still on edge from being tossed around, so it took a while for him to settle in, but when he did he was out like a light. Everything in him cried for more than four hours of sleep tonight. So, he tried not to think about what has just conspired, but how often do you get a surprise kiss attack from an Angel? I mean really. Especially guy on guy action like that; what the hell was he even thinking? It rolled around in his head until he'd sunk into darkness, and by then he didn't notice the small weight at the foot of his bed – an Angel in a trench coat, pouring himself another shot of whiskey.


	4. Dean's

Although in great need of it, Dean did not sleep well. He had raging nightmares for hours. His head filled with demons and salt, his thrashing evident as he fought to keep them away from Sam. Struggling against their masses of bloodlust, he swung his machete left and right. Their black eyes filled his vision and bogged him down. Their hands grabbed and ripped and their gaping mouths laughed at him echoingly, rows and rows of sharp teeth drawing ever closer. Then with the lash of an unseen hand he woke, in a cold sweat.

The room was dark as night, save for a stream of light from the bathroom door, which was cracked open just slightly. Everything came into focus as Dean lay there trying to control his erratically beating heart. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He felt more exhausted than he'd gone to sleep.

"Dean." Came a soft voice, and with another jump Dean groaned and looked to see Cas sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at him with worried eyes. "You were thrashing, so I woke you." He said simply. "You can go back to sleep now."

Watching him get up made Dean realize how long he'd been sitting there; the comforting weight by his feet was gone. He sighed and went to turn over when he saw Castiel step into the light of the bathroom. His shirt had profusely more blood than there had been when he left, and he had a cut on the very cheek Dean had wiped dirt off of. "Did the Angels find us?" He asked in alarm.

"No," Castiel replied, looking down at his dirtied hands. "Demons. They were causing trouble nearby. Not many, I managed to dispatch them without much trouble." He glanced back at Dean. "You don't have to be concerned, I'll be fine in a few hours."

Pushing his legs off the bed, Dean rubbed his neck and got up, walking over to him. "You don't look like you're healing, Cas, I don't know." He replied. "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Making a perimeter."

"No, I mean in the bathroom."

"Oh… I was looking for clean cloths."

Dean's face broke into a smile and he nodded. "All right. Come on, I'll lend you a hand. I can't sleep anyway," he yawned. "Where are you hurt?"

They walked into the bathroom and Dean pushed the door open, opening the cabinet over the towel rack. Ten plus washcloths were stacked alongside clean towels. Castiel walked in and stood by the sink, flipping the tie over his shoulder and unbuttoning his shirt. "I have two stab wounds to my abdomen and a shallow gouge on my ribs."

"And a cut on your cheek," Dean added, to which Castiel looked at him funny, then turned to the mirror and looked at himself funny. "How do you feel? Lightheaded?"

"… A bit. Is that a sign?"

Dean took some cloths and made Castiel sit on the counter, running warm water in the tap. "It means you've lost a lot of blood. Something to eat, and you'll feel a little better." He put the pile of cloths aside and used just one, handing it to Castiel. "Clean those out. I'll get the bandages." He left and went to his bag, where they had plenty of gauze and wrapping, and came back to see the Angel holding the cloth against his deeper wound. "You all right, Cas?"

"It's still sore. This helps," the Angel replied sheepishly.

"So where were they, what happened with the demons?" Dean asked as he picked up another damp cloth and ran it under the running tap. Steam curled through the bathroom as he wrung it out and Castiel let him clean the cut on his cheek gingerly.

"In a grocery store nearby, clearing out the humans. As if using the store as a base."

"That's weird. Why here?"

Castiel shrugged, and winced. He'd tugged on his wounds. "They're looking to make camp anywhere these days, but they didn't have the forces to bunker down."

Dean nodded. "And you took them all on? Why didn't you get me as back up; I mean maybe you wouldn't have been stabbed?"

"I would rather take the damage than have you fight. I have healing capabilities beyond human norms." Castiel took a hesitant breath and looked up at Dean. "And… I had already upset you once. I figured I better let you get some rest, lest I disturb you further."

"It's one thing to pull a stunt like you did," Dean protested. "It's another to ask for back-up. Don't ever hesitate. I can handle myself in a fight, it's just-"

"Kissing you're uncomfortable with."

With a small frustrated sigh, Dean gave him a glare. "Because only couples do that stuff, Cas. People in love – or at least trying to be."

"Mothers kiss their children. Brothers and male friends are known to kiss when experiencing great jubilation."

"Not mouth to mouth."

"Not often anyway."

"They don't do it just 'cause – not like you did. Only couples do that spontaneous thing."

"But most couples who do will either fall out of infatuation and call it 'falling out of love,' or are lying to each other," Castiel pressed. "Simple lies, but lies all the same. I have died for you and Sam, and you have died for me. We may have deceived in the past but love we never lie about. There is no gray area. It's always been clear how much I love the two of you."

Dean took the cloth from Castiel and cleaned all his chest wounds as gently as his irritation allowed, and began to bandage him. "We're like brothers, Cas. Not lovers," he said plainly. "You spring that lover stuff on me, you put me off. It's just not natural."

"Dean, what is unnatural about love?"


	5. Conflicting Viewpoints

Dean clenched his jaw and said nothing. He finished bandaging Castiel and handed him the rest of the rags. "Hands," he snapped, and walked back into the room, socks pressing into the thin pink carpet. He went to pour himself a drink and saw the whiskey bottle emptied. "Wow, Cas, did you drink all of this?" He called in surprise.

Castiel stared after him as he rubbed the blood off his hands again. "Yes." He paused. "Would it be terribly upsetting if we finished our discussion? I honestly am curious."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Dean, I just-"

"I said no, Cas!" Dean snapped. "It's bad enough you already kissed me! Just leave it alone, ok?" He sat down on the bed and pulled on his boots. "I'm going out. I'll be back."

Castiel stared at him. "I'll go with you-"

"I'll be back." Dean repeated, growling. He got up and put on his jacket and grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone. "I'll bring you something to eat." Then the door slammed behind him. Castiel heard the sound of the Impala starting and sighed, looking back at himself in the mirror sheepishly.

Dean drove to a 24 hour gas station and bought two bottles of whiskey and a coke. What right did Castiel have to push that gay stuff on him? It was damn clear already he wasn't a swinger. I mean how many women had there been? Forty? Fifty? He'd definitely lost count. Popping the coke can open, he drained it, almost angrily. He was perfectly happy without any ruffled hair Angel trying to tell him all love was love. He definitely did not love Castiel like he loved Lisa. Apart from wanting to protect them, and do mostly anything for them, any time, any day… and dying for them… and committing himself against every force in Hell and Purgatory… Actually, he would do all that for Sam too… Dammit! But he would cut off his left arm before he did anything like that junk with Sam. But Castiel wasn't related. He was a brother, but not by blood. He'd never even consider something like that, either, unless he was possessed. Right?

Of course not. Irritated, Dean grabbed a to-go bag from the girl behind the counter of a fast food joint and left without so much as a flirt, stalking back to his car. All he could think about was that damn kiss. It had been rougher, more sure than a woman's kiss. Nowhere near as sweet or smooth. Then again, he was surprised Castiel even knew how to kiss, the damn Angel. Why was he even letting this get to him? Why didn't the scent of the Angel leave him, even after a few hours of tossing and turning? Fuck this.

He drove back an hour later. The morning was still a few hours away. Dean shut and locked the car, heading back to the motel room. Once inside he saw Castiel sitting on the end of the bed. "I got you a burger." He sighed, putting everything on the table. Then he went to the bathroom and threw out the coke can.

"Are you afraid of it?" Castiel piped.

"Of what?" Dean asked wearily, ignoring him as he walked passed, even though he could feel the Angel's eyes on him. He poured himself a shot and walked to the window with it.

"The kind of love males can share. I've seen it done; the cupids often get orders to fix males together." Castiel explained. "There's nothing wrong with it. It's just not as socially rare as you believe it to be."

Dean pinched the skin between his eyes. "I'm not afraid of it, Cas. I just don't like to think about it."

Castiel rose. "That is fear." Dean turned and their eyes met. Neither wavered. "I don't believe it should be something you're afraid of, Dean. There's no reason. Not understanding something doesn't mean it is evil, or wrong."

"Why does it matter?" Dean demanded.

"It matters to me," Castiel shot back, fiery and hurt.

Shock froze Dean. He gaped. Something in the room opened up and sucked all his words into a vortex. His brain even froze.

The Angel worked his jaw, searching for an explanation. "I…" He tried. "I love you, Dean. I have never been in love. But I believe it may be similar to how my feelings react to you, and to Sam as well, although you and I share a more profound bond. I am not… wrong. Unnatural," he snapped. "Your ignorance is insulting and undermining everything I've done for you. Both of you boys."

Dean just stared at him. His hazel eyes took in the light from the lamp posts outside, filling them with a hazel glow, like the orbs of an owl, or more accurately a deer in headlights.

Castiel shook his head and walked to the table, leaning his hands on it, a shadow over his face. "I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said quietly.

"C… Cas, I'm sorry," Dean stammered. "I didn't think you meant it like that-"

"And even if you had?" Castiel interrupted. "Would you have been less violated?"

Lowering his eyes, Dean tried to think and just shook his head. "It's… I…" He sighed. "No, I guess not," he conceded. "It's just never been anything like that with me. I've been around a long time – nowhere near as long as you – but in all my days, I've never had a guy I loved as a brother who wanted… more, I guess, from me like that. It's just not something I was prepared for."

"It's not normal?" Castiel offered. He looked over to see Dean nodding. The man walked over to him and set down his shot glass. Straightening up, Castiel glanced him over. "I suppose that's not your fault."

"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean confessed. "I really am."

_Any feedback is appreciated._


	6. An Agreement

"I suppose you are." Castiel bowed his head. "I am as well. I shouldn't have pressed it if I knew you were uncomfortable." He squinted at Dean. "So you don't… feel similarly?"

"I…" Dean hesitated, giving Castiel a look. "No, I'm not sure I do. I'd do anything for you man. But I don't think I'm in love with you."

With a sigh, the Angel nodded. His loss of heart was obvious. "I see. That's unfortunate. But understandable." He watched as Dean picked up his shot glass and wandered back to the bed, where he picked up his phone. "I hope we can still remain as close as we are."

"Yeah, of course," Dean replied immediately. "We're still family."

Castiel nodded, almost sadly. He caught Dean giving him a furtive glance, though, and pursed his lips wordlessly. Was that a lie he spotted? Was it a lie about remaining polite, or…?

Dean glanced away and dialed Sam. "I'm checking up on Sammy," he cleared his throat and sipped his drink as the phone rang. He shot Castiel a fake smile, but he could see the mischief behind his eyes. The Angel looked away innocently and Dean felt a rock in his gut. His bravado was fading. He didn't want to feel anything like that for a dude – but Cas was Cas. I mean, jeez, if the guy was confessing something that heavy it meant… Dean rubbed his face. It meant he meant it. And that Dean had avoided meaning anything at all at every single cost he had left. The kiss. The deep blue of those eyes. The curl of his breath as he spoke those words. _'I don't believe you do 'get' me.' _Dean shivered.

"Dean? Dean, you there?" Came an annoyed voice; Sam's.

"Yeah, yeah I am. Sorry. Are you ok?" Dean replied hurriedly.

"… Well besides still being pissed at you, sure."

"Good. I mean, not good, but you know."

"What did you wake me up for, again?"

"Ok, look," Dean leaned forward, swirling his glass. "Cas came by and stayed. Raph sent his Angels after him, got him pretty good. But he knocked them down – he wanted to make sure we were safe too."

"Oh. Uh, that makes sense actually. Wait, did you say he stayed over? Like a sleep over?"

"What makes sense? And shut up, he doesn't even sleep!"

Laughter echoed through the phone. "I mean I ran into some hunters who knew dad. I'm tracking with them. And they slayed an Angel with a blade they'd gotten off one of the others."

"Shut up, was it after you?" Dean questioned.

"No, I don't think so. Just a routine thing I guess."

"Good. Well, I suppose I'll let you get back to it then."

"I suppose so."

Dean bowed his head. "Keep safe, Sammy."

"Thanks. You too, Dean."

Click. Dean rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and sighed. Stuck in a motel room with an Angel gunning for his love without his brother, who was infuriated with him, and obviously not safe very far away. Joy. "Well," he said, holding out his hand for the bottle. "Let's get to passing the time. Morning isn't for two hours at least." Castiel looked from him to the bottle and back, confused, and then it clicked. He picked up the bottle and walked it to Dean, who poured himself a heap more whiskey. The hazel eyed man smirked. "Get your glass out."

They drank the first bottle before Dean began to feel tipsy. He laughed and told Castiel long stories about what he and Sam had done to screw things up in the old days. Strip clubs and women and breaking into libraries. They had a warrant out for their arrest in nearly ten different states – with no pictures except bad artist renderings – and with no evidence except the oil of the Impala left on the asphalt.

The Angel drank freely, draining entire glasses from the brim down without feeling much. The best he got was a bit loose and tired. He watched Dean with intensifying fascination as he moved his arms to elaborate the story and seemed to fixate on his hands in particular. He offered questions and queries to the references Dean tended to make that were over his head, which turned one story into a twenty minute description, making it less funny but more elaborate, which gave Dean the giggles. Soon it was clear he was having too much to drink on purpose. Castiel watched him closely. When he wasn't looking, Castiel stole a shot or two, cutting his drinking in half.

Soon Dean became much less comprehensive. But he gave up drinking after a while. Then they were sitting on the end of Sam's bed talking about technology and its rapid development, and Dean heaved a sigh. "You know, with all this modern world stuff I never really thought about gays much. I never really came to meet many. Girls, sure, everywhere, but never really guys."

"They mostly hide, the males, and mate in secret." Castiel shrugged carelessly.

Dean giggled. "You make them sound like a rare species."

"But they are, aren't they, though? You never see them, you talk to men on the streets and they don't say much, so you don't even know what they are, and then they get home and bam. In a dress."

Dean laughed so hard he fell back on the bed. He grabbed his gut and rolled onto his side. "Cas, that was rich," he managed.

Castiel smiled a bit, glancing back to watch him. "It's the truth. I've seen it."

"I can't even imagine the kind of shit you've seen," Dean laughed. "Being around all the time you have." He sighed in contentment and suddenly grew serious, squinting up at Castiel. "But if you've seen them all this time, why not go after one of them?" He questioned.

Looking back at his lap, Castiel shifted his shoulders in a noncommittal way. "I always thought I was just in love with all humans. Besides, I was a soldier. I didn't dwell on it. You and Sam came along and worked your ways on me, I guess." He looked back at Dean. "I'm not putting a label on myself, though. You are the first anything I've been attracted to. I'm not anything."

"Unless there's a 'Just for Dean' category," Dean pointed out, his face half smushed in the covers of the bed.

Castiel cracked a real smile. "I suppose."


	7. A Small Ray

Sighing, Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's shoulder clumsily. "Hey, man, come here. I need to tell you something." The Angel blinked, looking at the fingers on his shoulder intently. "Right now," Dean insisted. Confused, Castiel glanced around and shifted stiffly, letting himself lay on his back like a plank of wood. With his legs hanging off the bed it was rather uncomfortable for his – Jimmy's – back. He glanced over at Dean curiously. The other man's arm rested heavily on his chest; his eyes were swimming with emotions let loose by the strict guard of them being drunk, and his handsome face was decorated with fear and a need for sleep. "Castiel," he began, "I'm a sorry guy. You're the coolest dude in heaven, and I mean that."

"Thank you." Castiel responded, still confused.

"But if it makes you feel any better, I don't even understand what I love," Dean confessed. "I mean you've got sex appeal, man. Seriously."

Castiel stared at him. "Why does that sound so familiar?" He mumbled, mostly to himself. For some reason Crowley came to mind. But was Dean trying to say something? He looked into his cloudy hazel eyes. "Why do you say so, Dean?" He asked gently. "I thought you weren't interested?"

With a drunken chuckle Dean shut his eyes. "I know what I said. And I was damn convincing; don't you forget it." He snuggled his face into the comforter further. "I respect a guy with balls like that. I would never, ever shoot in the dark if I was a sucky shot. I mean really. I'm half jealous, half not even mad, 'cause that was amazing. But…" He trailed off wearily.

"But?" Castiel pressed, eager while he was still in a loose-lips mood.

"But damn," Dean breathed, "You can kiss."

Castiel felt his heart fill up and explode in his chest. His lips parted in shock. He hadn't been caught off guard like that by anything in… at least one millennia. He spoke as if the idea was draining, was that weak in the knees draining, or was it tiring? He wished now Dean wasn't drunk so he could explain further, but he knew it was too late. His wide blue eyes took in the faintest innocence showing through Dean's drunken exhaustion as his stare pierced Castiel. Then the hazel eyes slid closed.

He had been lying. He was thrown off by the kiss, not upset. It had made him think something he was unsure of. Now Castiel could understand his abrasive nature to the questioning. A sort of jubilation like no other filled him. It was a small ray of hope in a drunken man - but it was hope.

Carefully, Castiel moved Dean's limp arm onto the bed beside him. It was now clear the man was asleep. He turned on his side as well, facing him, and lifted his head to become level with Dean's. He looked into his peaceful face and gingerly touched his forehead to the other man's. There were few chances he got to be close with him, and he was not going to waste this one. But he was in his right mind – even tipsy. He shut his eyes for a moment and sent Dean a dream to keep him asleep a long time. Taking a deep breath, his eyes slid open, and he drank in the sleep deprived face. That was a picture he would save mentally. For any times he knew he'd miss this.

Then, he drew away like a ghost, sitting up, and sat on the end of the bed, watching him.

"I am not just an Angel, Dean," he found himself saying aloud. His voice was a decibel above a whisper.

"I am your Angel."


	8. A Wrench in Paradise

Dean's headache was bigger than Texas. He sharply regretted drinking in excess in order to forget about what he'd thought about earlier. But now not only was it back, but his head felt like someone was playing bongos in it. He'd ask Cas to fix it, but he really would rather not get that close yet. He was still shaky on his whole 'no homo' thing. I mean he wasn't gay, but Cas was after him, and no matter how fast or far he ran he knew that Angels could teleport. He could only imagine that look Cas would get when he got close enough to punch open the bubble Dean had very neatly put together with duct tape and gum – the bubble between his bravado and his insecurity.

He put down a bottle of Advil and water on the counter and the guy rang it up for him. Rubbing his forehead, he walked back to the motel across the street. What was he gonna do about this? He hardly even remembered last. He'd been trashed. He could've made out with the Angel for God's sake – how did he know?

"You didn't do anything rash," Castiel piped, making Dean jump. He was just inside the door when Dean turned the key and pushed it on.

"That's great Cas," he sighed, once again scared out of his skin.

"I mean it. We talked, you laughed, and then you fell asleep." Castiel continued as the door shut and Dean went to the table, opening the Advil and the water bottle, downing three pills and chasing it with half the bottle. "You did nothing… out of bounds."

"Yeah, and what makes you think that I think that I did?" Dean shot back accusingly, squinting at him through the pain of his headache.

Castiel took a moment of thought to work that out. "It's clear that it distresses you. I was only easing your mind."

"Ok." Dean grunted. "Did you ever eat?"

With a nod, the Angel glanced to the empty bag on the table. "Yes. It helped, thank you. So did the drinks apparently. I'm… mostly healed."

Turning slowly, Dean eyed him. "Mostly?" He asked.

Castiel nodded, looking a bit ashamed. "Yes. It seems… my healing is stunted. I'm unsure why."

"That doesn't sound good, Cas. You're all right, though? Right?"

"Yes. I am well. Just… partially healed."

"Ok then. We'll deal with it." Dean continued to ready for a shower, tossing clean clothes into one hand. "What causes it?"

The Angel pursed his lips. "Not sure yet. This is new to me. I've never had…" He trailed off. His eyes glazed over as an idea made his heart sink.

Dean turned curiously, his jaw tightening. "Cas?" A blank look had come over his friend's face. "Cas?" Dean pressed. "Are you ok, what is it? Did you remember something?"

Slowly shaking his head, Castiel blinked and cleared his throat. "No, I'm fine. Just trying to… think. I'm fine."

Dean nodded slowly. "All right." His suspicion came through in his words. "Not going to go off your rocker or anything?" Castiel shook his head and went to walked along the carpet, not saying more. His friend studied the gait and recognized it as one of concealing some sort of secret, a frown forming on his lips. "You're not plotting, are you?"

Castiel sighed as Dean went into the bathroom and tossed a clean towel onto the sink and grabbed his bag. "Maybe I should just go. You clearly are uncomfortable." The Angel said in defeat, glancing over at him. "And I should know by now you can handle yourself."

Dean grabbed the door handle and sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Cas, you don't have to do anything," he replied honestly, looking up at the Angel with clear eyes. "You're my friend, I'm just… I think maybe being cooped up is getting to me. We can go out and around today. Not far, just… out. All right?" He shook his head. "Besides, I want to help you out with your healing thing. Or not healing."

Bowing his head, Castiel nodded, looking back up in satisfaction. "That sounds adequate."

"Good," Dean shot him a real smile, "I'll be out in a minute." He shut the door and turned on the shower, turning off the lights. His headache stopped pounding so hard. "Much better." He said as he tossed aside his button down and shed his t-shirt.

In the room, Castiel sat on the edge of the bed and shut his eyes. He seemed to vanish inside himself. His eyelids moved and nothing else, like he was dreaming. His hands clenched into fists on his lap. Flinching, he rolled his shoulders and woke up again, panting. He glanced at the bathroom door, then at the floor. Clear distress hung on his back as he rose again and looked at his hands. He lifted his eyes slowly to look out the window, a twinge of fear in his eyes.

* * *

_I don't have many reviews currently, and as such I am... requesting them. Please give me some feedback._

_If I'm portraying someone badly, or not well, or even very well, I would like to know. It keeps me motivated to know I'm doing something right. And if not, I'd like to know as well, and repair what I've done wrong._

_Just do so politely. Please._


	9. Castiel

_Thank you for your cooperation. It has gilded this._

* * *

It has been said that Angels were made as warriors, and thus they would stay for billions of years. So it has been. I have burned out demons from vessels that have lived, and some that have not. Ridding the world of their defiling parasites comes above all else. I lack the luxury to care for every soul I come into contact with, lest I be over-burdened. I have usurped the unjust and brought merciless punishment down upon those who betray words of law, lain down by an… absent, but all-knowing Father. I still remain to do so.

But I am changed. A new kind of feeling has erupted within my breast. It isn't righteousness as Michael taught me, or bloodlust for transgressors. And it is not obedience.

Now my vessel walks the earth. Actually, it walks along a cheap carpet in a motel so far from anything important that it's hardly a stain on the fabric of time. And yet…

I have… done many things for normal men. Three normal men; usually just the pair. Sam and Dean Winchester have their own piece of the Holy Scripture now, through the prophet born to tell their story. Many follow them now – and many more will sing of their life and death in the decades and eons to come. This I had accepted as God's will. I lent them my hand at every bay and call... Just about. Clearing out nests of pestilence and raising them from perdition with nothing but demon blood on my cheek and wings on my back. For them… I would do anything, and have proved that much.

I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord. I was created to love and protect human kind in their vast imperfection. And I am in a kind of distress that I've only ever observed in human beings for my entire existence. And that is affection. Not for family, but for one beyond that. Affection I believe is not unrequited, but for now I have to assume, as well as pretend, that it is, because if I try anything else I will come out of it with a broken nose. Dean is very hostile about emotions he cannot handle. Sam could attest to that. Dean in particular of the two has given me freedom. It is something I am now ruled by, ironically, and I can't say I'm not proud to have it – to be loosened from my shackles of war and duty.

But it is something I could describe as a length of rope. The further from authority and into individual thought you go, the more powerful you feel; pride follows, as does success, and maybe even failure. But at your own hand.

My hands have grasped glasses of liquor, and bottles of it as well. My hands have taken and given life and death, illness and health. Right now they look to me like strangers as I realize what I have done to myself in committing myself to these boys.

This length of rope which is given out stretches as far as you go until it's long enough to hang oneself. I believe I have made my noose with the rope I earned. And my noose is a righteous man; but just a man, and nothing more or less.

He bows to justice and reaps insurrection. He brandishes his bravado like no other and does what work no weaker man could do, or will ever again. His desires are… natural and quieted often, to keep his mind in order. He is managed poorly but it serves his purpose. Unstable, but powerful, and in his right mind. A mind of human need for justice, and for love – shattered is normality, insanity is his steed, which he steers along his path and leads where he pleases, sometimes ignoring his own fate.

He is a man among men. A great man, to be known among all. Now, I have no choice but to hang myself with him. For my affection lies with for him. With addressing these affections, I hang our steady friendship. With addressing my growing emotions, which are my bane, I put at risk everything we've done together to one end. An end that would entirely justify the means - if only I had the guts to go through with them. An end that would be an end to many things. But an end I cannot but strive for. Even at the risk of unholiness; even at the risk of allies and friendship; even at the risk of demise – I will find guts for this cause. I will fight for Dean Winchester.

* * *

_I apologize for its thick language and Biblical stewing. Castiel is a very hard mindset to escape from._


	10. The Wrench

Except… there is one problem. Of course, I have everything I need to go after Dean's affection. I have reasonable cause, and I have created doubt, which hinders him now. The way he moves makes it clear he is going to be easy to convince. He kept glancing over at me, as if he were making sure he was a good distance away. Like I'll shatter his protective glass covering. If I simply shattered it, I'm sure his true emotions would become clearer. The ones I'm hoping for, anyway. I can only hope – but if I was not confident I would not try.

That isn't my problem. My problem is more… permanent. I'm an Angel. Angel's don't get married. We don't settle down and live in nice houses in heaven and multiply (not that I'd have that problem with Dean). We are… forever. Always. Immortal, in a sense. Affection leads to mingling, and mingling leads to a wish for sex, but we cannot. There need not be more of us. We cannot breed in our true forms. We can only even attempt breeding in human form – and even then, if will be our vessel's descendants, not ours. We do not feel these emotions because they are not necessary.

Developing these… feelings… for Dean has created a rift in me. The more I feed my affection by getting closer to him the more my powers are waning. I have felt the change, and seen it. It is an unraveling spell. If I commit myself to Dean entirely, I will become powerless. Trapped forever in Jimmy Novak. Don't get me wrong, I am attached to my vessel, but without my powers I am… useless. Dean has said so before. Would he want me to do this? Would he still want to be with me, if I was human? I do not know. I have to think he would.

It is a long process. It will not happen all at once. So I will do what I must – and I must try again. I cannot walk around like nothing is wrong anymore. I come every time he calls. I have saved his family and brought him back from Hell at great cost, and would do so immediately again. I see him and I cannot help but gravitate. Even as I've tried to keep myself distanced, it is very hard for me. I need a course of action.

I need a plan.

Emerging from the bathroom, Dean went to the bed stand and put on his watch and necklace, as well as stocking his pockets with the necessities. His hair was damp and combed, his entire self scrubbed clean, his face shaved. The scent of aftershave, soap, and cologne wafted off him. I wonder if he had been thinking about the dream I'd given him late last night. One I had found him in not long ago. In it, he was fishing calmly, on a dock. I added Sam to the dream, napping on the dock bathed in sunlight by his side, and his father, who was sitting in an old fold out chair on his other side, wordless. I made it a family dream. One to help him tie together what he had wished for himself ever since he was young. An entirely peaceful family.

He catches me staring and flashes a nervous grin. "Ready to head out?" He asks. Nodding, I watch him grab the rest of the whiskey and lead the way out the door. I walk out before him and he locks the door. We slide into the Impala and slam the doors, pulling out and into the road. He tosses a map onto my lap. "I heard about some place called sharp point somewhere around here. See if you can find it." I awkwardly unfold the map and squint down at the complex patterns. None of these look like the area at all and I stare at it for twenty seconds trying to decipher it. Dean reaches over and his hand brushes mine as he turns the map right side up, and I glance at him. I knew that. Going back to the map, I located the 'Sharp Point' and studied our distance from it.

"I believe it is twenty miles North West from here," I observed. "Why are we going there?"

"Scenery, Cas," he replies. "We never stop and look at the scenery. Well, you don't."

He was right. I didn't. Not often, anyway. I watched this planet form, watched erosion eat it away, and change it. I never have checked to see if it was still beautiful. Watching out the window, I watched as we turned off the main road and began up a steeper slope. In no time we had climbed the side of a sharp mountain and reached… well, it's point. We climb out and my shoes sink into thick green grass. Everything smells like fresh trees and leaves. Towering trees give way to a short clearing covered in large boulders, leading to the very top of the mountain. A small mountain. Absorbing the clean air, I let my eyes shut, and feel the breeze snatch away the dust of the town. Everything is still and calm.

I hear Dean's door slam and open my eyes to see him smiling in my direction. "Nice, isn't it?" He says, as if this were an old memory. Maybe it was. Nodding, I follow him through the trees, where the canopy light filtered down and dappled over his still-drying nut brown hair. I looked up, and it slid over me as well, filling my eyes with warm sunshine. I look down and watch as Dean's boots sink into the thick grass. The feel of the earth meets us. Out over the edge of the clearing stretches the town, and the land beyond, as far as we can see. Roads and rippling hills. It is beautiful, indeed. The sky kisses the land far out on the horizon. Clouds like white cotton candy drift along the edges of the seemingly endless blue, the sun standing alone, high in the sky, basking us in her glow.

We pick a large boulder and sit. I had not noticed the whiskey bottle swinging from Dean's hand, but it found its way into mine, and we both drank from its cold neck. I knew his head was still in pain, but he was enduring intense sunlight anyway. It makes my skin feel warm. It fills my head with calm. I filed this spot away in my memory forever; it was a fantastic get away, and with not another soul in sight.


	11. Chemistry

"I could fix your hang over," Castiel pointed out, after a long period of comfortable silence. I had really, really been hoping he wouldn't offer. I didn't want his hands near my face right now.

"Ah, thanks, but no thanks," I squinted. "I'm ok. It's not so bad." He seemed to pause then. Before he could make up another reason to get in my space – right now we had a good amount of it between us – I decided to bring up a question I'd been wondering about. "Hey Cas, if you're an Angel, where are your wings?" I asked curiously. "I mean, Angels were always painted with wings. Are yours just invisible?"

"No, actually," Castiel replied, after a moment of reflective thought. "My human form is not strong enough to hold my wings. They are painted on in art to show the person's angelic inner possession – we never actually have them out, they're just visible on occasion. Like they're part of our aura that cannot fit. They stick out of our backs, but are not felt, nor seen." He explained.

Greek. I nodded, pursing my lips. "What color?"

He looked over at me then. "Why do you ask?"

"Well… because I'm curious. Some Angels I've seen painted or in books have black wings, or white. What determines it?"

His blue eyes cast out over the horizon, and a breeze ruffled his dark hair. Seeing him in a healthy light was refreshing. He was always so dark and brooding. "Well… Most all Angels have white wings, brilliantly so. It was God's will."

"And yours?" I asked.

Castel glanced over. "Mine are seen to be black." My surprise prompted him to search for an explanation. "It's something to do with our obligations. Our duties. I was a soldier, like many others. But I lead most of our less destructive forces. Rank determines it. The higher up, the darker your wings. Messengers, and followers, all have white wings, and there are many more of them than there are leaders. Of course, humans such as yourself cannot discern color; it means nothing to you."

"Wow." I took a hit off the whiskey and sat back, leaning on my free hand. "That's awesome, Cas. So you're like a big time leader?"

"I am… A leader. The big time leaders as you call them are Michael and Raphael. Michael is in the cage and Raphael has become corrupt with power."

"Still, though." I shouldn't, but, "Any way I could see?"

Castiel's turn to be surprised. Turning to me, he thought about it. "My wings?"

I nodded. "Yeah, sure. Is there a way?"

"There is one," he offered, holding up a hand as if he was saying, 'I have to poke your forehead again.' I hesitated then, but he was already in motion. He drew one leg up onto the boulder and drew closer, settling directly beside me. Before I could muster a pathetic protest he was already reaching forward. His blue eyes were intent on me.

Flashes of light blinded me at first, but they seemed to go through sorts of filters, so I could see. Soon I saw Castiel facing off with those Angels he'd distracted so we could try saving Adam. He pulled open his shirt and completed the sibyl by pressing his palm into the center of it. Then it carried them away, far away, far into the skies. There the wings appeared. Castiel's, flashing like raven's wings, appeared out behind his body as if steadying him there. They were over twelve feet in length each – the feathers gleamed in the bare sunlight… and Castiel looked like he was ready to die in this fight. The others flashed out theirs on instinct, trying not to fall, exposing brilliant dove wings; larger than life, flashing as they clashed with Castiel. Then the image vanished.

Castiel's breath curled against the side of my face. "Well?" He questioned in his deep, gravelly tone, studying my reaction with the precision of a Chemistry professor. Chemistry; ironic.

I was in shock, of course. He was an intense guy but I hadn't really thought too much about that battle. They had all felt so powerful – and he was only one guy. One Angel on his own. And he'd actually put up a fight, and lived through it. My skin pricked with his presence. He had broken through my protective barrier and was feeding off my every motion. I found my head spinning and my eyes meeting his, where his calm became contagious. "Whoa," I managed.

"Being surrounded by them diminishes their enormity," he conceded quietly. "But seeing them for the first time… I remember that feeling. That awe."

He smelled like whiskey and a sort of rich musk. Maybe it was Angel smell or something, I really wasn't sure, but with all the open air he usually carried around with him, having him out on this cliff let it come through much stronger. I really should have been paying more attention to him than that, but by the time I came out of the thought of his smell, he was already nauseatingly close. My panic spiked. I was frozen, again. His eyes were full of mine, and mine full of his. Such intensity, such strength there; was that determination? Not again! Why did this keep happening? Why wasn't I moving?!

It was over at that point. I felt myself throw in the towel even before I could think to stop it. His lips seemed to grab me, and I just… I gave up. My heart seemed to fill with crushing ice – it stabbed me, piercing the walls, and vessels - and then melted at once from a great burning fire in my chest; all this in the same instant, which left me sapped of energy entirely. He kissed me once, twice, and I tried to draw him back both times. The sweet hesitation there crushed me, making my heart bleed even more. I tasted him again, and again. I knew then keeping myself from remembering it had been eating away at me inside.

He drew back enough to drink in my melting heart. His blue orbs soaked in my expression. It was all over my face; this was it, he knew. Dammit – he'd probably known since the first time he pulled this. I'd known he was looking. Watching. I was weak. Why hadn't I been more careful?

My heart ached in my chest. It hurt with the juice it had just experienced; like being struck by lightning. He could tell my pulse was racing. I felt that my eyes were dilated. His were, too. His hand had somehow rested on my leg, and he tightened his grip. This time I did it. I leaned for him, drew him in, and sank into it. It was harder, sharper, filled with more need than before. With his hesitation waning there was less sweetness and more ferocity. We twined and did not part. Kiss after kiss, both of us bursting with brimstone, we went at it. I felt the scratch of his beard and the brush of his nose against mine, and he opened his mouth and breathed me in. Then he drew me back in, and I felt as if I was trembling inside; with dark fear and alarm. I did not touch him. His touch alone grounded me from bursting into paper shreds and scattering to the breeze.

It took a lot of effort to quit. I didn't want to have to think about what we'd just done – I just wanted to be immersed in it, surrounded on all sides. But he knew that, too. He wanted me to know. To think. If we didn't think about it, what value would it hold?

So we stopped. And we did not speak - not yet.


	12. Doubts

The sun dipped down in the sky. It was six already. He sat by me, and I sat by him, and we stared out over the horizon until a chill began to set in. The sun was gone behind a cloud, and we picked up and walked back to the car. Neither of us said jack until we were already driving back. And it wasn't me. "Dean," Castiel said softly from the passenger's side, "I can teleport us back if you are unfit to drive." I gripped the steering wheel and eased us around a corner. I was shaken up, I wasn't incapable. My problem was that I was panicking. I'd not only made out with a dude and liked it, but made out with an Angel dude and HE had liked it. That was a lot to take in. I cursed myself for my innuendo and put the thought out of my head.

"I'll be fine," I managed. "It's not like you cut off my foot. I still know where the breaks are."

"Are you certain? Your pulse was abnormally elevated, and I believe it still may be-"

"Cas."

"… All right." He looked out his window. "Are you that upset?"

"I am not-" I took a deep breath. Temper, man, temper. "It's just… a lot to think about, Cas. You gotta give me a minute." I said wearily.

He sighed. "If that is what you wish."

His kind honesty was so precise. It cut right to my panic and stopped it at the core. Slowly, I began to calm down, and I sighed. I felt him glance at me shyly. What was I going to do with myself? What had we just started? Cas wasn't just his brother anymore. We were beyond family. I admire the man – his dedication, everything he's done for us – his humanity, even as a divine being. I … I love him. And now… Now, I had quenched a part of myself that I hadn't realized was dying, dehydrating slowly. Something I'd been stuck in for a while. All I had needed was a push, and I knocked over a bucket of emotions that had restored it, whatever it had been. It was refreshing. Relieving.

We got back to the motel, and he followed me inside. I tossed my keys aside, unloaded my pockets, and flopped down on the bed. He sat on the corner of the mattress as I groaned into the pillow. "Cas," I groaned. Turning over, I looked at him and sighed. He looked so small, hunched over, staring at his hands in his trench coat. All ruffled hair and thinly concealed nerves. Sitting up, I moved to get beside him, rubbing my face. "Ok, I'm ready. Let's do this." I said with determination, glancing at him.

The look he gave me made me melt all over again. It was the most innocence I'd ever seen him show. His eyes filled with terrified delight. "Do… what?" He stammered in alarm, as if I was asking for him to have my child, or run away from his family to get hitched.

I covered my face again. "I lied. I can't."

"Dean… I don't quite… understand…"

"Cas… It's ok buddy, don't even worry about it. I'm just…" I shook my head. "I'm just amazed. I mean, Jesus. I just – we just – wow."

He bobbed his head, looking over at me curiously. "I didn't overstep? I know it was alarming, but since last night I was aware you were holding back something. I wanted to get it off your chest." He confessed.

I shook my head in amazement. "I… No, you were damn smooth, actually. I'm impressed." I smiled at him sheepishly. "I'm usually angry at stuff like this, right around now. I just can't get any dredged up. I'm empty." Running my hands through my hair, I took a deep breath. "Cas, we can't do this."

His disappointment hit me like a freight train. It was hard, but I said nothing, did nothing. His disappointment quickly morphed into defense. "What do you mean?" He pressed, half despondent, half angry. "I waited for a long time, Dean. I had to make sure everything was perfect. I…" He looked into my face and trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line, his brows knitting. The deep sadness there was hard to look at.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I really am," I whispered. "But this… I can't explain it. We can't be 'together,' " I said bitterly. "You're a divine being, and I'm a battered guy with so much shit on his plate he has to have whiskey for two meals a day. I mean, what are we gonna do? Long distance relationship? Come on." I looked down at my hands. "I'm just not a straight and narrow kinda guy. Especially since this is all so… weird."

"You think I don't know that?" I looked up in surprise, for the umpteenth time today, and saw the insult adding to his injury. He glared at me; actually glared. "I have known you an eon, Dean Winchester. I watched you grow up. I know everything you have done, and have helped you do most of it. If I did not know what I was getting into, I would have squelched my affections long ago." He looked so... grave. "You know me, Dean. I will do anything for you. I've already proven that. I understand what you are and why you are – and I know you to be a righteous man."

There wasn't much to say to that. He was an Angel, of course he knew what he was doing. And here I was trying to talk to him like a teenager who'd fallen for me in the bar. I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I don't mean to put it like you don't know what you're wading into. It's just… I've been through this. I've seen it fail so many times, Cas. Do we really wanna do that? Now?" I pleaded.

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I put my face in my hands. "Dean. The pain you went through for them. Was it worth it?" His deep tone was like a music box. It struck all the right chords, pushing on my threatening tears. Of course it was. I loved them. Just enough to let go, all of them. I had this rock in my gut like Lisa and Ben were next, and it WAS worth it. The pain was worth their love.

"Yes," I managed, though my throat was closing up.

"I think so, too," he replied gently, and put his arm around my shoulders. He drew me closer and touched his forehead to my temple. I could feel his desire to heal me. To fix what I couldn't get rid of; these burdens of guilt, and shame, and longing I had denied for love. But he wouldn't. And I would never ask him to. Without them, I was not the same Dean.

I composed myself. I rubbed my eyes until I could see again and cleared my throat. "All right," I said through my tear-coated tone. "I'll do my best. But only because it'd be weirder if we didn't try." He nodded in reply, offering only a quirky bit of a smile; he was entirely still, not wanting to tip me over the edge again. And we did not move for a long time.


	13. The Tip-Off

Of course… I have not informed Dean yet of my dilemma. I'm sure after he calms down, he will want to know why I'm pensive. But until then I have finally allowed him to let his affections mingle with my own. The kiss we shared before was simple. The one that has just passed was, in one word, amazing. I could go on and on, and probably will later, but for now I'm going to cling to the moment and brand it into my mind. It's so beautiful and perfect – I'm terrified I will wake up and have this all be an illusion. Some sort of personal Hell, put on by who knows what; or who. That would break my heart, I'm sure. Or break me. I'm not entirely sure what or where my heart is. I only know who it lies with.

Dean was very upset. I understand, of course. I've watched his heart break quite a few times. Knowing that, it makes it much easier to see his easy nature as a necessity. He can't break his heart every day. There would be nothing left to break after long enough. But seeing it there in his face was a lot different than watching him deal with it from afar, or hearing of it. It hurt me, too. I've never had that sort of connection with anyone who wasn't my brothers. It is quite a bit more painful than I had imagined it to be.

We only separated when his phone rang. We exchanged a glance, and it was clear in his eyes he knew it was Sam. He rose and grabbed it. It was Sam. Click.

"Sam. I'm here. You're what?" He asked worriedly into the small device. I watched him pace. The bow of his legs, the way he dipped his head as he listened. His free hand slid into his pocket. His Adams apple bobbed nervously. "No, we're not far. Yeah, at a motel off route 60." When he paused I could see the relief in his face. "All right, no problem. We'll meet you there tomorrow and lend a hand. Me and Cas." Another pause. "All right, then." Click. He held the phone in both hands, sighing, and looked up at me.

"Sam and his allies asking for assistance?" I queried.

Dean nodded. "Looks that way. Not far West. They have a day of driving, but we can be there in an hour. If we leave tomorrow at noon we should meet them." He pulled up a chair and sat in front of me instead of beside me, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Now, seeing as we have plenty of time, how long have you known?" His eyes had shifted to a sort of green color, and they were far more curious and soft than his previous gaze had been.

I frowned. "About?"

He made a hand motion that encompassed large air space. "This. About being in love with me, wanting to give this… 'us' thing a try." He shrugged. "I never really got that sort of vibe off you."

"Oh. That." I tried to think back, remember when it began. From the moment I'd met him, in Hell - seen his power and ferocity – I'd been in awe of him. This was a righteous man, the one to save the human race from destruction. Save the planet itself. "When I raised you, I already admired you greatly," I explained. "You were rough around the edges. Prideful. Confident. Human. I thought of you as only the man I was supposed to guard, and assist in your venture. I was proud to be your guardian." I looked down at my hands. "But as things wore on, I realized I was not only helping you out of duty." The idea coming to mind was hard to decipher. It was twisted, elusive. "I… I began to feel attached to you. If things hurt you, I would feel this… immense rage… It wasn't like me, and I didn't know where it was coming from. For a long time it frightened me. I'm an Angel, I'm supposed to be merciful." Rubbing my neck, I shrugged, "It wasn't long until I figured out it was coming from my need to protect you. Not a want, like my job would entail. A need. Something that I could not control." Glancing at him, I gathered my words, and took a small breath, "I used my fury to mask my confusion. I feared reaching out to you would knock you off your path. You are a great man. But… you make your own path. I'm not as afraid of disrupting that as I was. To begin with, I only wanted to know your side of things. How you felt, and why. But I could never work up to it. I always thought the way I stared at you would give me away." I confessed. Those long gazes, laden with worry, as I swept him for injuries; concealed and obvious.

"Yeah that was always a bit… Thorough," He offered in agreement. "But I mean, I figured it was 'cause you were worried. We're friends. I was worried about you, too. A lot, now that I think about it."

"Yes. I was aware. I wanted to approach you more and more every time I saw you return my stares. But I, like you, was in denial a long time that my feelings were only because we were friends."

"What changed your mind?"

Looking up, I admired his form. He looked so content. His face was placid in the dim fluorescents, his unblemished skin kissed by it. The loose tension in his shoulders showed interest but not pressure. His gaze was calm. Patient. I had never seen him so patient. "A movie." I replied simply.

He looked surprised. "You watched a movie?"

"Well," I conceded, "Not the whole thing. I was searching for my brothers at one point, and one had taken refuge in the body of a family man. I was staking out, waiting for him to emerge, when the man's daughters put a movie on the big television. I ignored it, uninterested. But it caught my attention at one point. A man went down into the tunnels below Berlin and found a nest of male prostitutes."

"Cas…"

"Just wait," I interrupted, holding a finger up. "That's where I learned how men really kiss. I mean of course that I knew before that they did on occasion, I just didn't think anything of it. In the movie they were dressed like the 1940's. The main character fell in love with the first prostitute he hired. He loved him, and thought he was loved in return; he was a writer, I think. But the man broke his heart.

"Then he moved on, and fell in love with a street sweeper who looked similar to you. His skin was dark, and his eyes were pale blue - but he was very beautiful, just like you are." I sighed at the memory, ignoring Dean's face at being called beautiful. "I found myself relating to the main character more and more. He was selfish, but powerful, dedicated to his lover. Of course, he did not have a Father to serve as I do, but still. It was touching. An English man in love with a German. He had money, and with it he tried to save his lover from the Holocaust Hitler had inflicted on all homosexuals, Jews, gypsies… I remember the Holocaust. So many lives. Well, he tried and tried, until even his money was worthless to save him.

"Then they lost touch. It broke him as a person. I began to put myself in his place – on my own, pulling you out of danger everywhere I turn, only to lose you again another moment." That feeling had returned. A great rage inside me. Not being able to protect Dean was maddening. I felt quite mad then and there, so worried about it, when Dean had been killing monsters all his life. I can't help myself. He's too important to me. In my lap, my hands clenched tightly into fists. I was going to dig my nails into my palms until they bled, but I felt familiar hands stop me. I looked up into his sympathetic eyes and let him untangle my fingers. His own hands clasped mine. Affectionate, but with integrity.

"And then he found him again," I continued. "Years later. When they were both living lives of their own. His lover had married a woman, and had a family, and the writer was alone still. He had never gotten over the love they had shared.

"When he was invited to live with them, be an uncle to his children, he knew he had to refuse. Seeing him so happy without him would destroy him. And what if they could be lovers again? What of his new family?" I shook my head. "I couldn't help think about what happens at the end of all this. When Sam is happy somewhere, and most of the hunters gone; when peace reigns. If peace reigns. We will all be unneeded. I'll return to heaven, and you will go and build a family. A real family. Maybe start over with Lisa and Ben. Maybe someone new – somewhere monsters would never find you.

"And that… above all else, made me realize I was like the main character. I was entirely hopeless in many things – but I can protect, I can continue on, all those things. But we were also dissimilar. There would be no room for me in your life. I found the thought of living without you to be… unmorally unbearable."


	14. Bond

_I like this song for this fanfiction._

_Red - Shadows_

_Also, the movie I referenced is 'Christopher and his Kind' with Matt Smith, the 11__th__ Doctor in Doctor Who. It wasn't a great movie, but it was touching, and the photography was amazing, as was the portrayal of the war._

* * *

I was embarrassed to be telling Dean all this. I related to a gay man in a Hollywood movie? Shameful. Disgraceful, almost. Except… I couldn't help but see our parallels. The fact that he'd returned my feverish kiss explained that he may understand my tendencies, but beyond that I was hardly hopeful. Almost afraid of what he'd think, I lifted my eyes to see him staring at me.

"That's strange, isn't it?" I managed, heart sinking.

He shook his head slowly back and forth, without breaking his stare. His eyes flickered, and he swallowed. "No, actually. That was… a good reason to figure things out." I could not tell if he was saddened or otherwise. Why did he look to be emotionally shaken? He looked off for a moment. "I just… I wish I'd known, you know? We've been wandering around like nothing was up for God knows how long." His gaze went to our hands, and then so did mine. "That must've been a big thing for you."

Biting my lip, I nodded. "It was hard at first. Everything was. I had to work out that I was… attracted to you now, and pretend everything was all right. I was falling into my own lies." I admitted. "It took a lot to anchor myself down and get back to the mission, but I had no choice. There are no sick days in a rebellion. Eventually I got myself together, and now we're here."

"Did it take that long?" My expression convinced him he was correct. "Wow, Cas, I had no idea."

"All the better for it. I needed to work it through on my own."

"Ah. I suppose that makes sense," he sighed.

"So if you're still unsteady, I understand entirely. I only wished to stop lying to myself. And to you," I explained.

He nodded in reply, and I could tell he was upset again. I had upset him. Angry with myself, I watched him withdraw into himself, clenching his emotions inside and trying to control them. Anger, confusion, guilt, shame. I read them plainly on his face. There was not much I could do to stop it – if indeed I did, it would only be more painful later. I loosened one of my hands from his and leaned forward, brushing my fingertips along the side of his face.

For a moment his tension lifted from surprise, and he met my gaze. What he saw there is unknowable. I do not know what I was feeling. Love, perhaps. But I exposed my tender affections yet again, stealing yet another kiss. He was not alone, and without me he would feel as if his entire world were caving in. I know what that feels like. I will not leave him to it as I was left. My fingers slid into the thick brown hair that curled down and caressed the back of his ear, my thumb pressing into his clean shaven cheek. His face had always been no-man's land to me, always. The sharp definition of his straight nose; the dark brow, and bright eyes. This close, all his freckles were clearly defined, scattered like stars along the blanket of his nose and cheeks, the blush below them hot and scarlet. His skin was just as I'd always thought. Rough, but clean, smelling of aftershave and a thick musk that I could not help but drink in. I knew Dean was handsome. Most people did. But here, to me, he was beyond that simplicity. He was a creation of God's own personal handiwork.

His return was still hesitant. Needy, but hesitant. He still would not put hands on me - not stable enough - but his lips knew what they wanted. If not for my own need, I would be floundering. How do people do this constantly? I feel as if I'd slip, ruin it somehow. Maybe then it would make this moment less unbearable for both of us. But I couldn't willingly mess this up. It was so savoring, and invigorating. It was like licking a live wire. His every warm reaction to my action made my heart flutter a little more, just the idea itself filling it to the point of bursting. At one point it was so over-full; and it kept filling and filling, with more added in every time he reached for me again. I felt like I would shatter my vessel if I continued and yet could not stop. But it was like this both times, and so I paid it no heed. I sank into him, and he gave in yet again, letting his fever rule him.

I drew back to let him breathe, and between us, the air beat with his heart and felt like it was stammering. It was very attractive how his body reacted – eyes dilating, breath quickening, heart taking off into the sky. Blush reddened the tips of his ears. He got up abruptly and walked away then, kicking off his boots and tossing his jacket aside. I am unsure why, but then he went to his phone and ordered take-out - which was even stranger – and paced the floor while I sat deep in brooding thought.

When he was done he tossed the phone aside and came back. He held out his hand, telling me to follow him, and sat back on the bed, propped up against the pillows. I was unsure what to do, but when I began to draw closer he grabbed me and guided me to lay on my back beside him, a head below where he was. I curled up shyly, using my jacket as a shell, but he was not as hesitant. He drew me against his side, his arm around my shoulders, and I stared up at him. His hand rested against my collar, his palm hot; his other hand rested on his rising and falling belly. He was in a simple cotton t-shirt in a dark color, his necklace lying motionless against his heaving chest. He smiled wearily back at me and I lowered my eyes, looking down at the points of my shoes on top of the twist of the comforter. His soft upper arm became my headrest. Soon I had relaxed a bit more, his warm form pressed up against mine, his scent filling my head. It was like a home had been make-shifted. A 'Dean home,' just for me.

He had already relaxed beside me. His fingers curled loosely on my collar, inches from my throat, and his breathing evened out. He was asleep so quickly. I shut my own eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to sleep. Drift away, entirely unprotected, beside someone you're so utterly comfortable with. Someone you care for so completely. A deep, warm sigh emanated from my chest. This must be what peace feels like.


	15. Already?

I didn't hear the delivery man pull up, knock on the door, or anything; I was out like a light. All those emotional doors Cas flung open let out a crap ton of junk and it was really, really hard to manage. It was all completely ridiculous until it wasn't - and then I was half about to kill myself 'cause I kissed a dude, and half wishing I could have known sooner. I mean, it made me feel like, among the other parts of me, one part was finally happy. It was weird. I was confused, sure, and pissed at how stupid I am, but you know. Beggars can't be choosey. And boy do I beg for hell sometimes. I mean, me into a guy. That's some bitch smack in the face. I'm still not over it. But anyway, I hardly slept more than a few hours; I'd had a pretty good stretch last night that finally fueled me up, so no shock there.

When I came around, the bags of food were on the table and it looked like Cas hadn't even twitched. The guy has some talent with his teleporting. He must've paid the guy and gotten the food inside in the time it took a fly to fart. It was like nine at night now. Outside was pitch black with some crappy light from the lampposts outside. And of course, Cas knew before I did that I was awake again. He sort of looked up at me silently and I remembered why the half of me so happy was winning over the angrier, more suicidal half. His eyes were always a sort of dark, stormy blue, like he was fighting a constant brawl in his head. But when they turned on me they always seemed to lighten up. With what, I'm not really sure yet. Something like admiration. Hope.

"Sleep well?" He asked casually, and I felt a chuckle bubble up in my chest.

"Yeah, thanks," I smiled. "Somehow I sleep better knowing whatever sexual tension we've been avoiding has been offed."

"… When you say offed…"

He lifted his head so I could have my arm back, and I stretched out, groaning. "I mean like dealt with. I friggin didn't even know there was any until you landed a quick one on me, and I'm relieved. I can't even imagine working around it for any longer than a few hours. Torture." I laughed. Then a thought came back to me. I sat up, and so did he, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. A frown creased my features. "How are you feeling, Cas?"

He glanced over at me, his eyes unabashedly taking in the twist of my shirt and the ruffle of my hair. "I feel… normal. Why?"

I think I made the dead pan face to end all faces. "Your healing thing?"

It even seemed to scare him that he'd forgotten. He unbuttoned his shirt hastily and pulled back the wrapping. Immediately, he hissed with pain, and put it back. "Unchanged," he gasped.

"That means you're not healing at all!" I pulled my legs up to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. "Cas, what the hell?!" He sat gripped with pain as I put my hand on his shoulder in alarm. "Are you sure you don't have any idea what's up with you?"

"I believe now is a good time to explain…" Just then, his stomach growled like a dinosaur and made me jump.

"Cas, are you hungry?! You?!" I asked, now completely flabbergasted. Had I lost my mind?

"It seems so," he replied in confused surprise.

Shaking my head, putting up my internal bullshit protector, I got up and helped him to one of the chairs by the table. "Then let's talk over dinner, shall we?"

I doled out the food and sat back, watching him with growing creeps. He devoured his portion before I was even halfway done and then sat back, sighing. I swallowed a gulp of whiskey and looked up at him. "Ok, shoot. What's going on with you?"

He explained his elaborate dilemma. And then ate more.

"Cas," I managed, after watching in horror as he finished the last eggroll. "You're acting like a human like right now. I thought you said this wasn't a quick process?"

"It isn't," he said around a mouthful of rice. Then he sat back and put his fork down, shaking his head. "This is extremely unusual. I thought I had much more time." Then his eyes me mine and he saw how freaked out I was. "I apologize, Dean, I didn't want to tell you under these circumstances."

"How did it even get this bad? How long have you been feeling weaker, uh… Angelically?" I tried.

"Only since this morning. I hardly even used my powers all day, except for showing you my wings and getting the food." He looked a lot less perplexed than I was, and I gave him a look. "What?" He questioned curiously.

"You're not freaking out by this? You're a drained battery, Cas, in the middle of a war!" I exclaimed.

He nodded slowly, looking away for a minute. "But that means I may be able to recharge. Maybe." His next look gave me a chill. "Maybe I'm falling for you too quickly." Well, then.

"Wha..? Ok, no more eggrolls for you," I said, packing the food away. He made a motion like, 'What, why?' and I shot him a glare that made him give up. "The more you eat the worse you'll feel later, trust me. Now explain."

"There's nothing to explain, Dean," he held up his hands. "I've only seen this happen a few times before, and it's never been like this. Of course, there have hardly been any same sex infatuation scenarios in my time…"

"So, it's 'cause we're gay?" Dead silence. He looked at me with raised eyebrows and I glared at him. "Shut up."

He shrugged helplessly. "Maybe because it was such an impossible match, the two of us, maybe it worked twice as quickly on my power. Let me try." Putting his head back, he closed his eyes and sat meditating for a moment. The clock on the wall ticked. I held out my hands on the table in anxious anticipation and watched him intensely. Whatever he was doing, I just prayed that it would work. Another minute passed. He took a deep breath through his nose and opened his eyes again, looking down at his bandages. Carefully this time, he pried them back. Nothing. He was completely healed. "That was the last of it." 

* * *

_Wait for it._


	16. By, Jove !

I gaped at Castiel. "What?" He got up slowly and took the bandages off, walking to the bathroom to throw them away. "That – What – That's it?!" I yelped.

"I… I don't know. I'm just as stumped as you, Dean." He confessed. In the doorway of the bathroom, he paused, looking up at me. Then his expression changed like the realization had dawned on him. His shirt was still open, his backwards tie draped down the center of his exposed chest. But he looked so guilty that I could hardly stand it. "I really am sorry, Dean. I thought I'd be able to lend you my power for a little while longer, at least," he said quietly. "Without it, I'm just… useless." He looked down at his hands, "A child in a trench coat, as you put it once."

"Hey, hey," I protested as I got up. "You are not useless. Last time you were blocked when we could've used some smiting power, that's all. I was just afraid of walking in there without you amped up." As I crossed the room to him, he didn't look cheered up in the least. I sighed. "Cas, you mozel tov'd an Angel without powers when we put Lucifer and Michael into the pit. That was damn impressive."

"Yeah, then I got myself disintegrated." He mumbled.

I put my hands on his shoulders, and made him look at me. "You are not useless. We'll find some way to reverse this. Don't sweat it." I saw his eyes begin to shift; his worry eased, and he sighed.

"Thank you, Dean. I appreciate it. I still feel guilty for inconveniencing you, though. I…" He paused. "I feel guilty. I feel a lot of things." Looking down at himself, he started to scare me. "Like a full stomach. That feels amazing. And good god this coat is comfy." Relief washed through me.

"At least you don't feel hurt anymore. I'm glad you finally healed – you scared me a minute there." I pointed out.

"Yes… that's true, I really feel sorry about that." He looked at me full-on. "I have one more feeling, though. One difficult to decipher."

I pulled a face. "And that would be…?" He opened his mouth and closed again, his eyes traveling over me in a familiar way. When he swallowed his Adams apple bobbed. Hunger hung on him like a neon sign. If there was any kind of good light in here I'm sure my face would be blood red. I cleared my throat. "Horny. That would be, ah, horny."

"Horny?" He asked in alarm. "But Angels cannot…" He stammered.

"Who's an Angel?" I barked a laugh. "You're full meat sack now, buddy. Welcome to the club."

Castiel seemed to be trying to figure it out still. "Jimmy has not had any sexual interaction in…" He bobbed his head in shock and his eyes widened considerably. "Wow, his wife was hormonal." He turned back towards me with feverish eyes. "Dean."

I paled. "Whoa, Cas, slow down," I stuttered, fear creeping into me. Ok, I really should have seen that coming. He wasn't listening though. His hands seemed to come out of nowhere, cupping my face and bringing it forward to meet his own – but carefully, tenderly. At least he hadn't lost his shyness – not yet. I felt a sharp bolt of panic shoot through my chest. I was going to have no idea what I was doing here. Well, mostly. I'd heard rumors and things, but come on. I was going to be groping in the dark. I tried, but there was just no fighting him. Seeing him this turned on was a lot hotter than it should have been. I didn't even let myself think. I just let myself sink into him.

He brought his mouth to mine and his familiar lips made me feel it, too; that fever. A soft kiss. A taste. Rough beard against the corners of my mouth. Sparks jumped from his tongue to mine through gentle goading, his one hand drifting into my hair and the other on the back of my neck.

Ok, I was curious. It was hard to not know where to put my hands, but then I thought, it's just like every time. The only thing that had changed was the other guy. Or, in my case, from girl to guy.

I reached up and gingerly touched the side of his face with my fingertips. To my surprise, he took his hand off the back of my neck and placed it over mine, and gently push my palm against his cheek. Like he was encouraging me; like he wanted me to. Maybe he did – I had never done this before. I felt the roughness. The scratch of a guy's skin, and the way it moved as he continued to work his magic on me. He was like a damn magnet. His hand went to my free one and took it by the wrist, placing it brazenly on his chest, which gave me shivers. I let my hands wander – one twined in his own thick dark hair, the other drifting over his chest, pushing his shirt aside as I did. He paused a beat to take in a deep breath, and feeling his pecks lift under my palm was a lot nicer than I'd figured it might be.

Drawing me back in, he began to grow more intense; more impatient. He shed his coat and pulled his tie off. They dropped away from him and crumpled to the floor, making my heart skip nervous beats. Then his hands were back, all over me. Exploring the area under my thin cotton shirt, his hot palms against my stomach and waist. They took in all the skin they could fine feverishly. He began to put pressure on me with his body, with more strength than I thought he had left, and I let him. He pushed me back onto Sam's bad and was on me again in an instant.

Curling up beside me in the bed, he pulled me in, his legs latching onto mine. His mouth caught mine like a trap. I melted against his touch, pushing myself into his hands. I felt him all over me and it was like being surrounded. Now I know how being a girl feels. And I'm not gonna lie, I liked it. A lot less work, and the same amount of horn dog.


	17. - I Think They've Had It

Against my whole body, I felt Castiel, and then it hardened loud and clear against my legs. He pressed me with it, slamming down his cards on the table and baring them to me. His breath trembled on his lips. My lips trembled against his. I was still shaky, so at first I tried to put off what I was about to do, but he was persistent. He didn't know what he wanted. He just wanted it. But I did know, and I was just afraid of wanting it, too. It was bizarre - too bizarre. I didn't have a lot of time to be shaky, though. He grew more agitated; his hips worked against mine, his kisses becoming begging nips. His teeth sank gently into my tongue and lip, pleading openly. 'Please, Dean,' they whispered. I couldn't wait anymore; I knew he needed it badly. The whole transition for him had been too quick - he was overloaded with needs and desires from his human half. My fingers fumbled with the snap on his pants; damn black slacks and their hooks.

When they finally gave way Cas shifted to give me room and my hand sank down passed the waistband of his boxers to grasp him. He let out his first noise of muffled pleasure and it was an empowered moan against my mouth – like goddamn music to my ears. He was soft on the outside, and rigid on the inside. I felt myself tense up and strain the zipper of my own jeans. The appeal of this whole thing became intense in a flash. My doubts evaporated. Firm but careful, I worked him and liked it, his entire body heaving against me. He rewarded me with occasional, short gasps of pleasure and a deep, pressing kiss, during which he rode out his waves of ecstasy. I had never felt as if my strength was put to such good use. For a long duration he let me push his shirt away and grab at his soft waist and hips. Their gyrating motion made me extremely hot under the collar. His hands were latched on to my shirt, white-knuckling the intense desires being satisfied within him.

Cas dislodged my hand gently and his tension had eased. He became much more confident. I was just glad he hadn't let go yet; with him still on the edge, he was smothering me in affection. He pushed my shirt up and planted both hands against my heaving chest, moving his hands along my every ripple and strong, yielding curve. His hands grabbed at my back, and pushed down to grab my ass, much to my surprise. Cas was getting damn handsy. With a more gentle touch, he worked one hand to the front, and brushed my throbbing bulge with his fingertips. Shivers racked my spine, and I leaned into his touch. He began to massage me firmly, but with acute awareness; thank god he'd taken the hint about delicate equipment. Then he moved away from my lips, and began to kiss down the side of my chin, and my throat pulsated under his lips. At the base of my neck he sank his teeth in and proceeded to run his tongue over it hotly, giving me a rush of hormonal dizziness. I saw stars as he pulled down the collar of my shirt and planted a kiss very few inches, his nose brushing my collarbone.

Moving continuously down, he did what I didn't think he'd be able to work out on his own. He popped the buttons on my jeans and worked some special kind of transition to below-the-waist-mouth magic. That was new. He eased me out of my protective layer with focused care. His hands were delicate, extremely so, and my anticipation mounted. I groaned in surprise as I felt his tongue slide over me, sinking my fingers into the hair at the back of his head; not forcing, but encouraging. It was the weirdest, most addicting feeling I had ever felt in my life. He worked it with the precision of a girl savoring every taste of a tootsie pop. My other hand gripped a handful of his open disheveled shirt, another groan of pleasure passing my lips. Over and over; hot, wet, he drew off more and more of me. Too good. He was too good. I eased away from him and he took the hint better than I'd hoped. He came back to my lips, hesitating, his hands sliding along my torso, and I did not hesitate. I thanked him with a series of deep, passionate kisses, wrapping my arms around him and grabbing him. I hardly even tasted myself on his tongue. Pressed together, toe to toe, we pushed each other's hair around and snared on our belt loops to stay against the other, in a deep thrashing throes of passion.

Tenderly touching his neck and the side of his face, I drew long, sweet kisses off his lips until I bid him to roll over. He obeyed without question. I hooked my thumbs around the waistband of his boxers and slacks, and he let me ease them down, and kicked them off. He was a smudge of dark hair against the stark white sheets. His lost hands found pillows and his tendons stood out as he closed fistfuls of cloth and feathers between his fingers. His nerves reflected mine. Using what we'd worked up in my mouth, I coated my lowers in it, and began to work my way in. A bit at a time, with every positive reaction from him I went further, my hands latched onto his waist. When I was in to the hilt he let out a moan and I pressed my lips to the back of his neck as I began to ride him; steady at first, then more hungrily, working off the last of my stiff desire. I opened my hands and pressed them to his pelvis and his stomach tenderly and pushed my nose into the hair at the nape of his neck, managing to hold back for the last few waves of pleasure. It took him a while to relax, but when he did he responded more and more, his own pleasure evident. It built up in me faster than I expected. My breath quickened. Then I let go, and his gasps mingled with mine as my thrusts became more powerful, the pleasure exploding into starbursts in my entire body. Each wave crashed over me like eight foot tall walls of water. One after the other, growing weaker and weaker, but still intoxicating. I groaned and held on to him, feeling him move with me. Then, at the very last bit of weak waves, I slid out and wrapped him in a tight embrace, my energy petering out. I drifted along the last few waves of satisfaction, savoring the feel of his body against mine; still, warm, lifting and falling with uneven breath.

He turned back over in my grasp, and drew off my shirt, tossing it aside. He buried his head into the crevice of my neck and shoulder, his hands curling up between us in fists that rested just below his chin on my chest. I tipped his head back and sank into a deep kiss, my hands sliding down his front again. But he stopped me with a weary hand. He was worn out, and so was I. Fine with me, I was fading fast. I kicked off my jeans, put my junk back into my boxers, and we twined our bodies together, resting. My cheek to his forehead, his nose to my neck. The exhaustion was evident in him. I'd sapped him dry, and he'd done the same to me. We lay tangled together trying to calm our hearts – which were pounding hard with love, and complete satisfaction – and let ourselves drift.

Cas only got up once - to rid himself of what I'd given him. He managed to shut off the lights and shut the blinds after emerging from the bathroom, and stumbled along the carpet. He came back with hands clammy from the tap water. I wrapped them in my own and drew him back into the bed with me, pulling the covers over both of us as well. We settled in, me on my back and his head on my shoulder, our arms draped heavily over one another, and were both out as if someone had thrown a switch.

.

.

* * *

_If you stayed up to read this like I stayed up to write it, I commend you on your determination. We both share similar satisfaction at the completion of this chapter. Thank you._


	18. Human

I had never slept before. It was much more pleasurable than I could have ever imagined. I sank into nothingness, not at all concerned with my body's well-being, and took a stroll away from it with ease. My head filled with memories and scenarios I knew to be dreams and I let them rule me for hours and hours. Cycles of them ran, and I caught every one in my hands, only to have it burst into stars and vanish from my memory altogether. My entire body was recovering from the ordeal I had pressed last night, and I could no longer feel my wings on my back, but I had never felt better.

Rest. I had needed rest. My very core had never slept before. I'm not sure how having a soul feels, because as an Angel I was never given one, but I believe becoming human gifted me one. Everything in me was in shock, and I was ignoring it as thoroughly as possible. Jubilation sang through me as I walked through my dreams. Flashes of Dean's laughter. Sam's confused look. All the people I had helped, and the Angels that I had defeated; and more of them who were my allies from the start. I rolled in the dreams, covering myself in them, and let myself fall back with complete trust. I knew they would release me when I was recovered. And they did.

Morning light had never looked blue to me before. Through my long unused eyes, I spotted morning glow on the room like a blue wash that faded as I blinked. Everything grew warmer and warmer in light. Golden. I filled my lungs completely and felt the heaviness of my body emerging from the depths. Beside me, Dean was already sighing and rubbing his eyes, and I lifted my head and just watched. I committed to memory the way his muscles shifted when his arms bent. How his eyes took in the room, heavy with sleep, and his tired face smiled at me with uncertain satisfaction, his hair unimaginably ruffled from our activities previously.

I felt satisfied. Rested. I felt energy filling me slowly, very slowly. I was still very heavy physically. I worked my thoughts into order and managed to become extremely embarrassed by what I'd pushed on Dean last night. "I…" I tried, and cleared my throat for its scratchy sound. The second time was clearer. "I'm so sorry."

Dean just heaved a sigh and gave me a look. "For?" He questioned, stretching his arms and sinking further under the covers. He drifted centimeters passed me and I stared a fixed point on his chest as he did so.

"I could not control myself last night. I… I was very…"

"Pushy?" He offered.

I felt guilt settle on my shoulders. "Yes."

" 'S ok, Cas," he chuckled. "You did pretty well for a beginner. Damn well. You're just a natural at this love stuff, you know that?" He laughed, and my heart lifted.

"I did push you into it; you're not angry?"

Dean shook his head. "Dude, I ain't even mad."

I sighed in relief. "I'm glad to hear that." Shifting to stretch, I watched my hands curl over my head. Something was different, though, still. "Dean, I still feel… tension." I said in confusion. "After everything we did, why am I still-"

"Morning wood." He said, turning his head so he could see my face. "We both gave out before we got you off, so it's probably left over. But morning wood is random as balls sometimes, too."

I mouthed the phrase 'random as balls,' a few times in disgust and Dean cracked up laughing. Then he rolled over to me and occupied my lips otherwise. He was right. The memories from last night were still making me hot under the collar. We woke up a bit more by sinking back into a sort of making out process. I reached up to feel the stubble on his chin grown there overnight, like I had wanted to for weeks, and enjoyed his much more docile taste. We let ourselves get worked up a bit, during which he gave me a revisit of last night in order to get rid of my… morning wood. I let out a bedraggled moan as he became more and more coordinated with his actions, and something began to build up inside me. My anticipation turned to fear. I'd never done this before, did it hurt? Was it awful? Humans all seemed to enjoy it, but what if it was painful and they were masochists? I could no longer heal, and down there was extremely delicate. I became less responsive, more pensive in each kiss, to which Dean began to soothe my fears. "You'll be fine. Trust me," he said in my ear, and I did trust him. I gathered my bravado and relaxed. I let him finish me, against all alarms in my head. I'd never been so wrong.

It was like an explosion of color and physical ecstasy, planets of it. No wonder humans loved sex. Dean's hands were like perfect tools. They dragged every drop of pleasure out of me and left me completely drained. I lay back, seeing stars, and he propped himself up on his elbow and grinned down at me. "Come on, handsome," he said, kissing my cheek with warm force. "You need a shower, and so do I."

After much pushing and dragging, Dean got me out of bed. It was difficult. I was so completely exhilarated, and comfy. But I got up, and Dean led me to the bathroom. There he worked my twisted shirt from my shoulders and tossed it away, shedding his boxers as well. I stood hugging myself, naked, shivering in the chill air of the motel, longing for bed again, and he smiled as he turned on the shower. He took me by the shoulders and maneuvered me into the shower, which was a long short tub and a glass box with a door to shield the floor from water. He got in as well and shut the door behind him.

"Now," he said, as the water poured over my head and down into my face. "There are two things a guy needs. Soap, and shampoo. Nothing pink or purple – but mostly anything else is fine. Here." He handed me a bottle of suave something or other. Daily… clarifying? It was blue. "For hair only, Cas. Got it?" I bobbed my head, and he reached out, drawing me away from the water torrent, and planted another kiss on my lips. "Relax, bathing isn't so bad." He grinned. I begged to differ. Although, Dean did look incredible attractive vertical and naked. That much I appreciated. He mussed up my wet hair and gave me the right amount of shampoo in the cup of my hands. "Rub the dirt and blood and sex out of your hair. And don't get it in your eyes, it sucks."

I did as he instructed. He got his own shampoo and showed me the motions. I squinted hard and focused, making sure every move mirrored his, but mostly it just made him laugh more. Apparently this was an enjoyable endeavor to him. How odd. He then rinsed all the shampoo out of his hair, thus rendering it useless, and I stared at him like he was nuts. "Washes out the junk, Cas, that's what soaps do. Your turn." Droplets dripped from his eyelashes and slid down the corners of his smile as he moved me into the torrent again. I stood there, eyes shut firmly, unmoving. I willed it to wash out. I felt Dean's hands work through my hair, rinsing the 'shampoo' out, and found that quite intoxicating. The feeling of his fingers against my scalp was so entirely alien, and yet so entirely addicting.

He tried to show me how to use the bar of soap. I just ended up watching him rub it all over his body and wanted to make out with him again, and so I did that instead. For a while he let me. But eventually he handed me the soap and made sure I knew what I had to clean, and eventually he was satisfied at my level of cleanliness. He then allowed me to escape the glass waterfall box.

The water torrent was shut off and he wrapped me in towels and rubbed my hair dry as I buried myself in them, fending off the cold. "The quicker you dry off, the warmer you'll be," he informed me, and that encouraged me to move. I rubbed myself dry and watched as he did the same, walking back into the room to fetch clothes. "Since your stuff has never been washed, I will be giving you my things to wear. I've got a few sets."

I leaned out the doorway. "Plaid?" I asked dreadfully.

"Plaid," he grinned crookedly.


	19. The Group Case

A gray shirt. Softer, less airy than my white shirt. It sat under a white, black, and blue plaid button down. Colorful. I was still unshaven, but scrubbed and smelling like shampoo, and with my hair… combed. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked… clean. Fresh. Like a responsible human male on his way to work. The jeans were a little snug around the waist, but the legs were comfy, and I felt just as covered as I had in my trench coat. Dean had even leant me a pair of boots. I looked down at myself. At this moment, as I'm sure you can agree, I was a true Winchester. Although I'm sure I haven't got enough attitude just yet.

Walking in from the car, Dean tossed me a brown jacket, similar to his green one. "Until we get your trench coat washed," he replied to my weary look. His grin was a 180 of my expression. It seemed he was excited about this; happy to see me humanized. I mean I can't blame him. He got some perks out of it, and I was enjoying it as well. But he was downright giddy.

We packed the car and took our things and left the messy bed to the maids. He pulled up to the Laundromat and threw my things in with his, sitting on the driers and watching as I tried to peel a roll of quarters with my short fingernails. Great concentration came over me. The small lip of the paper foiled me every time I almost got a grip, and my hands were weak. I knitted my brows darkly and continued to wear it down. I glanced at the whirlpool device. The machines sounded to me like they were eating our clothes, not cleaning them - but Dean did not seem as alarmed as I, and so I did not say.

Twice I tried to teleport. I tried to teleport from the men's bathroom to the women's, and just ended up looking like I was constipated in the middle of the floor for ten minutes. Then I tried to teleport from one bathroom square to the other, with similar effect. All my wounds had healed last night, the cuts on my face even more quickly, and I could neither feel my wings nor contact my lieutenant – or anyone for that matter, except Sam, Dean, and Bobby, whose numbers remained in my mobile phone. I was indeed, stuck. Human.

Dean came to find me in the bathroom, where I was sitting on a sink, staring out the window. "Cas? You all right?" He asked kindly.

"It feels weak." I replied after a pause. My voice echoed in the small room. "Not being an Angel."

Nodding, he came to lean against the wall beside me, crossing his arms. "To you, probably. Sam and I have gotten pretty used to it though. We manage to be useful." I lowered my eyes, and he reached up, putting a comforting hand on my back. "Give it time, Cas. You may even like it. Besides, we'll get you juiced up again."

I did like being human. I liked it a lot. I got to feel Dean's every kiss like an explosion. Sex was… sex; there was no comparison. I could feel happiness and enjoy food and… and sleep. It was beautiful. I was finally one of the creations God had made – the creations I so loved. But it was not me. Not who I was born as. I'm an Angel of the Lord, with duties and responsibilities and tyranny to prevent, I could not be so selfish as to stay like this forever. Even with Dean.

Getting off the sink, I nodded to Dean, and he let me lead the way back into the Laundromat. We got out our clothes and folded them, packing them away into their bags again before heading back to the car. I was silent on the way out. It was just around noon when we pulled up to the restaurant where Sam was to meet us. We got out and went inside, spotting our moose at a big table with four other people. Three males and a female. We joined them, and the look on Sam's face when he saw how I was dressed was priceless. He had his thick brown hair framing his face, dark eyes open and foreboding. In all honesty he looked as if he hadn't slept in a few days. I sat close by Dean, a chair away from the others, and looked up at him. He was obviously much less agitated than before. He did not look to Dean for a greeting, but was not hostile about voiding him altogether. Maybe he was tired, and maybe he had forgiven him, and was just being prideful. He smiled sheepishly at me.

"Sam." I greeted him with a nod. "I assume you're well."

"Castiel," he nodded in return. "Yeah, of course." Polite, but… I could tell otherwise. "You too. Um, what's with the…?"

"Long story," Dean grumbled. He, on the other hand, was not angry in the least. Just relieved. Probably to see Sam still walking around without Angel feathers on his corpse. "I'll lay it out for you after this. What do we have here?" He smiled at our hosts in a friendly manner. Well rested, about-to-be-fed Dean was the most polite Dean.

Sam shook his head cleared his throat, "Well, first off, this is Ted, Eric, Nate, and Sasha. I met up with them on a case, and they asked if I had any more help nearby."

Ted was a brunette with dark eyes and a frown, but he nodded to us, arms crossed. A morbid, get-the-job-done type. Eric seemed brooding but was a bit friendlier, his hair short and blonde, shaking both our hands; obviously confident about his ability as well. Nate was a gangly teenager with spiked hair and glasses, a grin on his face. He hardly looked old enough to drive. I was unsure how I felt about his involvement. And Sasha was a curvy Irish girl with auburn hair and hazel eyes. We shook her hand as well. I noticed her eyes slipping towards Dean, and I rebuttled her glance with a stare.

"Dean, and this is Castiel. But I'm sure you've heard all about us." Dean gave his charming smile to all of them and they responded how people usually do. With surprise and caution for the sass to follow.

Sasha chuckled. "Sam hasn't had much time to fill us in, but we've got the gist." I felt her eyes on him like lasers and prickled at the nape of my neck.

Sam glanced at us, pushing over a newspaper article. "We asked to team up to deal with this. Serial killings. All of people with Welsh last names in this town are dropping like flies. Talwyn, Alewyn, the works. We think it's some kind of lore curse. Maybe attached to an object that passed through their possession." He rubbed his nose and there was a heaviness to his motion.

"Welsh, huh?" Dean said as he pressed his fingers to the newsprint. "If they're not family, why an object? How would it pass family to family?"

"We think they all came over here together. Emigrating from Wales two generations ago – and their families are all still close. So, maybe they use it in rituals." Eric replied gruffly. He had a thick goatee.

"All?" I piped up in confusion.

"Yes," Sam offered. "There are four families locally that we dug up, minus one that just got offed. I'm sure there may be more out of state, or even cross country."


	20. Out of the Bag, into the

The newspaper clipping was curt and blunt. "Says here it started at the Talwyn's place. The entire family was mangled in random spots around the house." I muttered. "Have you checked it out yet?"

Sam chuckled. "No, Dean, we just got in. We haven't even ordered yet."

He received a humored look, which he ignored. With a nod, I sat back. "Ok, now I get why you need back up. That's a lot of families." I glanced at all of them, my eyes lingering on Sasha. She seemed to be eyeing me. I mean she was hot, but… "But why not call your fellow hunters insteada his?" I asked curiously. Seemed strange for strangers to ask a stranger for more strangers to watch their backs, which people were usually protective of… against strangers. The group shrugged collectively, some more than others.

"Honestly honey, your Sam's the first cordial hunter we've met," Sasha replied, and beside me Castiel bit his cheek. "An honest gentleman with a double barrel. I don't know about where you're from, but they're kinda hard to come by in these parts."

"Right," I said, obviously unconvinced, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, Dean. We have all their addresses, we can split up and cover them all."

I nodded. "Well, me, you and Cas can take one, and your pals can split up into twos. That covers the three families left."

Sam sighed and sat back, giving me that, 'Oh, Dean,' look of his I hated. "The fifth family was killed – there are four, not three, families. Someone will have to go solo."

I'm sure my face was a bit unintelligent. "Oh." Beside me, Castiel smiled a big, grinning smile, and a ghost of a chuckle escaped him. I'd never heard him laugh before. I glanced over, smirking, and we exchanged humored glances. After which, he looked down shyly and cleared his throat. I didn't mind much. At least someone was entertained by all this. Plus, he looked good in a smile; he kinda glowed. When I looked back Sam's face looked like he'd just seen an elephant fly – one that wasn't Dumbo. The rest of them just raised an eyebrow. "What?" I blurted.

"Uh… Dean, can we talk?" Sam managed.

We looked at Cas, who glanced between us, and at the others. They looked casual, but Cas was messing with his shirt edge nervously. "Sure," I replied curiously, and got up, following Sam to the sidewalk outside the restaurant. I didn't even think about leaving Cas alone with them. I should have.

Sam stopped by a lamp post and gave me a look, shaking his head in disbelief. "You tapped that, didn't you?" He said, half in shock, half in disgust. Was I really that obvious? Damn. A rock dropped into my gut and I gulped. I hadn't expected to have to tell Sam. Not while he was mad at me, at least; my face must've given me away again. "Jesus, Dean! What the hell?! I leave for two days and you're suddenly banging an Angel?! A guy Angel?! CAS?!" He yelped, gawking at me.

"Calm down," I snapped, "It's not like that." People were staring from the restaurant and the sidewalks as they shuffled by. I tried to smile at them and grabbed Sam, dragging him into the alley.

"WHAT?" Sam took a deep breath to calm down; good thing, too - I was inches from giving him a bloody nose in front of his new buddies. "What do you mean, Dean? What is it like?"

I shoved my hands into my pockets and began to pace the dirty ground. "Ok, look. I told you he wouldn't leave the other night? Well, before I called you, Cas pulled a fast one on me. He got all emotional about doing stuff for us and being family, and smacked one right on my lips." I made eye contact and put out my hands briefly for emphasis. "Just randomly. And I ran away from him like he was goddamn black plague, all right?" I snapped, growling at my brother's infuriating expression. "I seriously did nothing after that. I went to the store, and bought booze, and came back. I told him it was weird for guys to like guys, he got upset and vanished. I went to bed. That's it."

"And?!" Sam demanded.

"And…" I gritted my teeth. "And he woke me up a few hours later covered in blood, and said he'd cleared out a demon nest nearby. His wounds weren't healing fast enough. We bandaged him up, had a few drinks, and I went back to sleep. Done. The next day was when… when I started to have doubts." I sighed, agitated, and pinched the flesh between my eyes under Sam's pitying look. "We went for a drive, and he… I asked if he could show me what his wings looked like, 'cause we never see them. So he gave me a memory of them from a while back. And…" I trailed off. The real kiss. The one I sank into. The fond memory was tainted with guilt. This was embarrassing, why did I have to explain this to him? Goddammit.

"And?" Sam pressed expectantly.

"We kissed for real." I said quietly, and he put his hands over his face. "Sam, it was just as weird to me as it is to you," I explained. "But somehow I - I couldn't help myself. I didn't know what I was doing - and I mean, it worked out ok. We seriously talked about it for hours after you called me. Really. I can't explain it any more. It was just… there, all of a sudden. He was just Cas, and then… please, Sam, still in shock myself." My pleading was getting me very little. Sam was frustrated, and confused, and skeptical, and all while I was pouring my heart out to him. He shifted uncomfortably, not meeting my eyes except for small moments in time. "Look," I whispered. "He's known he was like this for a long time. He hashed it out on his own. Right now, I'm still convincing myself, ok? So don't get all… 'You're possessed,' on me, 'cause I'm not! I'm just… we're just… new. This is all shaky ground right now." I drew back then, and it was my turn to look away. "But bad news is, that's not the bad news."

Sam looked up through his cloud of confusion, horrified and worried now, as if I was about to say I had a sexual disease. "Uuuhhh…" I gave him a look that shut him up.

"Cas has turned HUMAN," I said pointedly. "It took all his juice just to heal his injuries from the demons. No teleporting, no Angel wi-fi, no nothing. He says developing emotions pushes the Angel out of you, and he's been stewing over a crush on me for a while now. And with all this stuff we did, it took over real quick. He didn't have much choice in the matter."

"Ok, let me get this straight…" Sam tried, still reeling from the news. "So not only is Cas human and powerless, but he is that way because you guys had…" He made a face. "… Sex?"

"No!" I spat defensively. "We had sex after that." Sam just let out a frustrated groan turned, starting to walk off. Groaning in return, I bolted after him, dragging him bodily back into the alleyway – which was tough, he's a big dude. "Look, that's the God's honest truth, man, I swear. You gotta talk to me. Give me something here! I just tore open my chest and handed you my beating, bloody heart!" I implored, putting my hands up to show it was the truth.

After a long look at me, and a lot of head shaking, he showed he was ready to talk. "All right. Ok." He began. "I'm not gonna lie, it's been weird between you two for a while. 'A more profound bond,' makes sense now. This…" He made a weirded-out hand motion and made a face. "This is gonna take some time for me to get over, though. I still can't believe it. My famous womanizing brother." He shook his head, for the umpteenth time, and I sighed.

"I know, right? What the hell?" I grumbled.

He chuckled and smiled at me. "Well, you certainly seem like the same Dean. No love potions or spells there."

"Thank goodness. One of us has to have a normal love life."

"You call screwing an Angel guy normal?"

"… Touché… And Sam…"

"Oh, God, what else?"

"Shut up!" I waved my hand violently. "I mean… I'm sorry, man. Really. For before. I know you're still getting over all that demon stuff, it's just…" I didn't know how to resolve this, again. We were both still pretty messed up. Then a thought occurred to me. A sheepish grin slid onto my face. "If you do me this favor and let me work this thing with Cas out, and don't patronize me, I'll do the same and let you work this demon thing out on your own. Deal?"


	21. Fuck This

Sam glared at me a minute. Obviously he was still upset. But not nearly as mad as before, sheesh; before he'd been downright pissy. He paced a bit, back and forth, his boots scuffing the ground, his moose hair hovering around pensive eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, all right." He heaved a bit sigh and looked over at me. "Ok, man." Grinning, we shook hands roughly, and I put my arm around his shoulders as we walked back to the restaurant. "But you're only gay with Cas, right?" He asked curiously.

"Yeah. Uh, I guess. I'm still not really even attracted to guys. It's just him."

"Weird. But good. 'Cause otherwise, Cas's got some competition," he teased, shoving me, and I shoved him back as we walked to the table.

"Haha," I shot back.

We were just about to walk back in when Castiel burst out, running smack into us. He gave me a bit of a shock, sure, but his expression worried me much more. His blue eyes were full of something like fear. The bell on the door rang loudly, and I got a chest full of Angel as it swung back and banged shut again. Sam took a step back in shock and I grabbed Cas, holding him at arm's length. I tried to look into his face but he had his head down. "Cas, Jesus, what's wrong?" I stammered. "Hey, look at me, what happened?" He just shook his head, over and over again, and I shook his shoulders. "Cas, please, just talk to me." I begged. He looked like he'd just been bullied at school, about to turn into a rock, and at the edge of a panic attack all at once. I exchanged an infuriated look with Sam. "Your new friends?" I said sardonically.

"I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding," Sam said, although he seemed just as skeptical as I was at the comment itself, and vanished inside.

I walked with Castiel to the corner, where the alleyway was, with my arm around him, and he refused to look at me. "I'm sorry," he finally spoke up, shaking in his boots. "It was just a misunderstanding. But I over reacted – I'm sorry, Dean."

"For what?" I asked. "What happened?"

"They were… questioning my relationship to you. I… I just said we were bonded," he spoke with halting words, distress clear in his usually blank face. "And they told me to specify. I said we were together. And the males got rather…Foul. They dragged Sam into it, and slandered us, and I don't…" He trailed off, and leaned against the wall, rubbing his face. "I don't know. I just got so abashed. I got up and I even knocked over my chair on my way out." He said wearily. "I'm sorry. I embarrassed myself, I guess."

They had humiliated him. Over our relationship. I felt a burning anger deep, deep down inside seeing him like this, and I grabbed the back of his head, touching my forehead to his gently. "It's ok, Cas," I whispered. "It's not your fault. They shouldn't have been sticking their damn noses where they don't belong." I seethed.

He looked up at me, and his agitation did not ease. "I did not expect them to be so…" His voice shook, so he gave up, and just stood there, hunched over, toe to toe with me. His hands were clenched into fists.

I had never been so furious. "Arrogant? Assholish? Bitchy?" I sighed angrily. "This is why I was so afraid of this. People just don't get it. I didn't even get it until yesterday. We're scared of stuff that doesn't make sense - we make fun of it to keep it at bay. But when it comes down to it, it's really just a matter of being a big enough man to care for people, and to show them some damn respect." I calmed my tone down. "I'm sorry they made you feel like this, Cas, you don't deserve it. You're a good guy. Really."

"It's my fault." His quiet tone broke my heart. "I wasn't strong enough. I should have not answered. Or said something clever. I just - I was so proud of what we managed to start, I wanted to know what they thought, how they felt. I suppose… now I know."

"Cas…" I consoled him and took him back inside. He kept his head down. My fists were curled, and my nostrils were flared as I sought out our table. I was gonna beat a bitch. Sam was sitting down, talking in agitation to his new hunter pals. I walked right up to them and put a hand smack down on the table, making them all jump. "I don't care what you say to me, I don't even give a rat's ass what you think about me, or anything for that matter," I seethed. "But if you ever, and I mean ever, patronize my friends again I will end you. Is that understood?" I leaned over the table threateningly and glared at the men in particular.

The older ones gave me even looks in return, but Nate was shaking, wide-eyed, and Sasha looked shocked. "Got it?" I snapped. Nate bobbed his head repeatedly, and the other three didn't make a move. "No more shit. Just business. We get this case done, and we part ways, and that's all. We are gone. Now let's go." I leaned back, scowling. "I can see why all the other decent human beings who hunt have avoided you." Giving them all a glare, one by one, I took Castiel by the arm and walked out again. I heard Sam give a frustrated sigh and follow me out as well.

"Dean," Sam said as we rang the bell again, leaving. "You didn't have to be so-"

"Yes, I did have to be a jackass," I interrupted sharply. "Cas here doesn't know a napkin from a pun, and they exploit him? That's not very neighborly, Sam."

"I know. They were morons. But we still need their help- it's too much work for just some of us. The guys were just being guys, Dean. You and I probably would have been a little more polite about something like this, but bottom line, it's weird to them. It would be weird to us. They were playing around and just got carried away."

"It's all right." Castiel piped up, and we both turned to him. He was looking very determined. "I'm fine, it's not going to be a problem. Let's just go." I could see the shame swirling in his eyes and conceded. Sam went back inside and talked to the others again while I paced outside. "It's really ok, Dean." Cas said wearily. "No harm done. We're just different."

"No, we are not," I growled. "We're all human freakin' beings here, you especially now. You're innocent. I'm not a guiltless man, but I've been pretty decent to people. What do they get off being assholes?"

"Dean, not long ago, you would not be so upset over this."

I turned to him. "And yet." I held out my arms in exasperation, and he sighed in defeat. Dropping my arms, I went to him, grasping his forearms. "Cas, things have changed. You changed my mind," I pressed. "I was wrong. There is nothing unnatural about us. We're not different. We're just guys who've been through a lot of shit, more shit than anybody else. We're beyond blood."

"And they will never understand that," he responded quietly. "They think we are different. To these people, to everyone around us, we are different. We are exiled."

My words were stolen from me. He was right. We condemned gays on a daily basis. They were the butt of our jokes and prods, the reasoning behind our arrogance. I couldn't fathom how badly we'd slandered gays ourselves, not even counting Bobby. His track record spoke for itself. But Sam and I had helped hundreds of people, and refrained judgment from so many, only to make jokes later. Why? Why was this such an abnormal thing to everyone? Why had it been an abnormal thing to us?

Maybe because it was. Or maybe because it was so feared that it was impossible to accept except in small doses. Acceptable doses. I had no idea. I just knew one thing, and that was that it made me downright pissed that someone had judged Castiel, the one guy outside family who had died for us, brought us back to life, and taken care of us almost as much as Bobby had. He'd done so much. Too much to deserve this. And they had no idea. They just saw him as some fag Angel, with Sam's fag brother. I remembered all too well being that wrong before.


	22. The Mari Lywd

After that, we didn't see much of the other hunters. Dean and I headed over to the Davis house – one of the other names on the list - to question the family, and along the way he gave me some pointers about guns. Mostly don't point them at him - but I knew that much. I tugged at the tie around my neck. He had let me change back into my clothes, minus the coat, for the interview. Only at his assisting I looked 'hot' did I even consider changing back. I just liked my own clothes. But, when we got out of the car and he waved at me to wait. I, of course, obeyed, looking befuddled. Dean came over to me and smiled warmly as he fixed my tie. "FBI Agents. Smith and Weston. Let me do the talking."

"Smith and Weston?" I questioned. "Isn't that-"

"Sssshhhhh," he teased, and I felt a smile curl my lips. Shyly I bobbed my head and he chuckled as he led the way to the front door. I was unused to feeling like this, what was it? Infatuation? I enjoyed it, none the less. He was so sharp in his suit. Although, I did notice we all wear our suit jackets open, while the fancy men on TV in British shows always make sure to button theirs. Must be culture. We knocked twice on the front door and Dean stood up straight, taking on a serious air. I watched. How did he do that? The gun in the back of my pants was cold against my skin. Distracting thoughts distracted me.

The door opened and a man in his fifties answered the door, his weary eyes and weathered smile indicating a father's life. "How can I help you boys?" He asked politely, and behind him a flash of white made me blink. As I craned my neck to look over his shoulder Dean pulled out his badge. I didn't spot what I was looking for and he nudged me. I faced the man and took out my own, making sure it was right-side up. He was looking at me like I had just tried to peep at his stamp collection.

"Owen Davis? Agent Smith, and this is my partner Agent Weston," Dean replied, "We just have a few questions for you and your…?"

"No wife. Just me, and my boy," the man said, stepping back. "Please, come in."

Dean pushed me after the man and I followed the father into the living room, where he motioned for us to take a seat. I sank into an arm chair and Dean sat on the couch, the man sitting on the other end. He glanced back and forth between us. I ignored him. Around the corner, in the kitchen, a boy stood in a shadow. His hair was a surreal silver like Angel wings, his eyes glowing faintly. I got a bad feeling he was a demon, but then he vanished. Dean cleared his throat and I realized I was being stared at.

"I apologize," I said sincerely to the man. "It's just, your son looks ethereal. Could we possibly speak with him as well?" Both Dean and the man looked surprised. But with a nod he got up and called out for his boy, and Dean exchanged a look with me. I gave him a 'just wait,' head nod and he pursed his lips. We both turned when the man drew his son into the room and Dean's jaw dropped. The boy's hair was stark white. "That is his natural color, correct?" I questioned.

"Of course," the father said awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I should have explained earlier. He's got a condition."

"I think it looks fascinating." I complimented. The boy turned his big eyes on me - they were the brightest yellow-hazel I'd ever seen – and admiration and thanks filled them. I held out my hand to him and the father let him walk to me. "We just have a few inquiries. It won't take too long." I explained, and he nodded, going to sit back with his father, who looked confused still. I was unsure why. I was all right with children, wasn't I?

"We'd just like to ask about your recently passed cousins, Mr. Davis," Dean spoke up. "We know it can be a tough time, and are very sorry for your loss."

"Don't be." The father sighed. "They weren't the greatest people. But they used to be better, when my boy here was young." He rubbed the boy's shoulders and the child sat very still. Like a small statue made of stone, his eyes on the clock across the room. I followed his gaze.

Dean smiled at the father. "Well, I'm glad it's not too difficult. Tell me, did they encounter anyone or anything strange before their deaths?"

"Like what?"

"Such as anyone who may have threatened them, or maybe an object that was out of the ordinary – maybe passed between your families?" The boy met my eyes after I'd spotted the grandfather clock he was gazing at. Now his stony gaze was on me.

"Um, let me think… No, no one particularly. They weren't the friendliest folks but no one would mind enough to do them harm. Paid their bills on time, sent their kids to school. Used to - poor things."

"Ok. What about an object, then?" Dean leaned forward to command his attention away from my peculiar stare with the child.

Mr. Davis thought a moment. "Well… there is… It's silly, really. But we have some ancient signs from our ancestors that we protect." He said hesitantly. "They're… like, wood, bronze, iron…"

Red flag. Bingo. "And you have some of these signs here, among your families? Did the Talwyns have one?" Dean pressed.

"Yes, actually. They had the wooden sign. They had no one to give their things to, so the police emptied their house. I believe they gave it to our other friends. The Alewyns." He shook his head. "They're just ancient trinkets. They hang on the walls and things. Even the Stantons have some."

"Do you have any?" Dean questioned.

Mr. Davis looked perturbed. "We have the iron sign."

"We're going to need to commandeer it as evidence," I piped up, looking at the father.

He blinked. "They're very, very valuable family heirlooms-"

"Mr. Davis," I interrupted, "This is a murder investigation." He sighed and nodded.

"All right. I'll go get them." He rose and left, leaving his boy to our company.

Dean looked over at me, impressed, and I gave him an acknowledging nod. Then I turned to the child. "What is your name?" I asked curiously.

"What's yours?" He countered. Sassy, for a seven year old.

"Castiel." I countered, and he wrinkled his nose.

"Fancy," he conceded at last. "I'm Bran."

Dean and I exchanged another glance. "Like strong guys 'brawn'?" He questioned the kid, who nodded.

"It's Welsh," he said proudly. "It means 'raven boy.' " We both looked at his hair and he flashed us the most disarming grin I'd ever seen – and Dean as well, apparently, since we reacted similarly.

Then his father returned, gifting us the sign. It was carved out of very old iron – pitted and corroded, but held together, preserved well by some unseen force I could feel against my skin. I hadn't lost all of my Angel yet, then. "Thank you, Mr. Davis." I said gravely, and Dean saw it in my frown that this was what we'd been looking for.


	23. Welsh Dilema

"So look up anything to do with the six signs. Yeah, Mr. Davis apparently is up on his Welsh folklore. Family thing. Yeah, ok. Bye." With a click Dean hung up his cell and the afternoon sun glinted off the hood of the war and washed his face in a healthy glow. Considerably charming. He turned to look at me and I looked back to the sign in my hands. It was rough, but heavy with black magic. It was not a familiar feel. The object was crying out with its weight. It was only bestowed recently. My hands looked so large in comparison to it. Holding it delicately, I sighed.

"Someone did this to these signs. Someone angry with the families."

"They said no enemies. They may be wrong, and then may not be. If it is true, that means this was an outside job." He sighed. "We're meeting Sam at a café to talk over what he and the other morons found."

Dean was still very angry about what they had done to me. I'd never quite been caught in a situation where someone lacked such respect for my personal life – because, I've never had a personal life before these boys. But it was not their fault they were ignorant. Choosing what we chose was not socially comfortable for anyone involved, why did he expect them to be comfortable with it? Their sharp tongues stung, but… that would fade. I was not a child, I could handle criticism. "Dean," I said gently. "I trust your ability to finish this job, but being biased against our back up will have negative consequences."

"Doesn't mean I'm not still mad," he replied in a growl, and I sighed.

"I understand. I cannot guarantee I can fully protect you in my current state, but I will pay extra attention to your back," I conceded.

His eyes were warm as his gaze drifted over to me and along my stoic expression. I felt rather than saw him smile, and go back to driving without incident. His affection filled me with bubbling joy; the restless kind that made you want to fix your collar with shaking hands, or tap your foot on the carpet, or wiggle in place. I did none of these things. Instead I examined each feeling as it flooded through my veins and receded again to its constant, dull throb in my heart. This was how it was with Dean now. And this was exactly how it had been transcribed in many, many published works about… This. Us. Love. It was quite… invigorating.

We sat down with Sam in the café a few minutes later, and it was clear the news was not good. He shook his head and ordered a triple red eye from the waitress, who wrote it down like, 'It's your funeral.' When she was gone, he told us the bad news. Another family had been killed. The Alewyn's were dead. Dean swore softly and rubbed his face, making obvious shifts in his chair, distressed. "Signs in their house?" He demanded.

Sam nodded and slid over the bronze sign across the small table. Same shape as the others. Round, with an X in the center. I picked it up and examined it. The same weight. Placing the wooden sign in front of me as well, Sam sighed. The Talywns's sign as well. I picked it up as well. "All of them are cursed." I said wearily. Dean swore again.

"And get this," Sam continued. "They're from a folklore nightmare called the Mari Llwyd."

"The Mary what?" Dean asked wearily, and Sam sighed.

"The Mari Llwyd. It's an old Welsh tale." I offered, and they both looked at me. Their incredulous green eyes matched so perfectly it was like twin glaciers converging. "I read. I've been around a long time."

"So what is it?" Leaning back, Dean eyed the signs, as if something would leap forth from them and swallow him whole. He rubbed his face with a tiresome sigh. Losing another family – losing anyone – was impossible on him. He was supposed to be the hero. Stop all this, let these people live on in lives he could never even touch. I let my gaze travel along him a moment, slipping down the folds of his jacket before resting on the table.

"They're like… hex bags. The conjurer is sending the creature to collect the signs for him – whoever gets in its way…" I made a motion like, 'They're done for,' and the boys exchanged glances.

"Ok. So we put a detail on the Davis's. In the meantime, how do we kill it?" Sam's arms folded across his chest, the wheels in his head clicking and whirring.

I dug through my internal data bases and frowned, trying to think. There had been something at one point. My library days on watch had been fruitful. If I could only remember… Shaking my head in defeat, I looked up at them. "I don't remember. But I know what book to look in."

The three of us slid into the library close to late lunchtime. We all took a section of the myth section and dove into it with vigor, determined to find this book before that monster found Davis and his boy, Bran. Sam had called the others on his way over and sent them to protect the father and son while they researched. This had to be done quickly, and thoroughly. I sat down with my stack and sorted through them with painful sluggishness. My mind was not as acute and open as it had been before. I had kept my knowledge of the supernatural, but not much of my reflexes, or my omniscient wisdom. My hands reached out and grasped each book in turn, turning it over and over, feeling the rough but textured covers. Lifting each heavy cover in turn was like finding a new land to uncover. Their thick pages unraveled mysteries and drew out explanations, sliding over my fingertips. Pages nicked at my touch, breaking the skin only once, and I sucked on my injured finger briefly as I continued my search. The metallic taste of blood helped me focus, as did the sharp pain.

Names popped out at me. Titles. But nothing profound. I put that book aside, and glanced about for another one. I spotted Dean walking by, a stack of old texts wrapped in his arms, and the startling green of his eyes shattered my focus. His stride was long and purposeful. I could tell he had just been meaning to check in on me, and instead caught me nurse my paper cut. The curl of his lips mirrored surprise and something flourished in his gaze – something hasty, but warm. In a moment he had been swallowed by the book cases, but the flush down the back of my neck and along the bridge of my nose was hot and bothering. I was unsure whether he felt the same jolt of desire whenever our eyes touched; it was a rolling simmer now, a living thing under my skin, my entire body thrumming with it as it began to collect in pleasurable stabs in my heart. I pushed it aside and grabbed another title quickly.

An hour passed, and then two. Sunset drew in, pushing its pink light to dance along the back walls, sinking through the windows and sprawling over the curved ceilings. Then a cry of triumph echoed throughout the library, along with a few small 'sshhhh's of protest from the elderly library workers. I leaped up and stumbled over to where Dean was, my hands on his shoulders as I leaned over to see what he had found. "Did you locate it?" The eagerness in my tone was difficult to resist.

He looked up at me with somber eyes. "Yeah, right here," he said, flipping the book closed to show me the cover. It was the ancient tomb I had found a copy of. Hope rose in my chest like a flowering sprite. Our eyes met again, briefly, and the dazzling light from the sunset created angles on his face, planes of light defining his jaw and cheeks. I'm proud to say my overpowering urge to follow the touch of light with a shaking hand was resisted. A smile did ripple along his lips, and I felt myself almost reach out.

But his gaze went back to the book and the moment was over and he showed me the page as Sam came jogging over, book under arm. "Find it?" He questioned, just as eagerly as I had. We watched him point it out.

"It takes, 'a harp player christened in the homeland to draw from its berth a song of passing.' A lullaby. Who do we know who even has a harp, let alone can play it?"

Golden eyes came to mind, "Bran." I blurted, and their eyes converged on me once more. Shaking my head, I put a hand to my forehead and tried to think. "Bran, ah… He had callouses on his fingers. All of them. Guitar players have them on three fingers, maybe more, but string instruments of more demanding needs…"

"The kid. Davis's kid?" Dean asked in disbelief. I nodded. He slammed the book closed. "Let's make a round trip, shall we?"

* * *

Apologies for the gap between chapters. I go through bursts of sketching, writing, and playing my guitar, and sometimes they go in that exact order whether I want to do another or not. I don't really have a choice. But, I will finish this, I promise.


	24. Too Late

I did another thing. s/10163141/1/Dorm-Days

-

* * *

The tether of Cas's gaze as we tore down the highway, Sam tailing us, held something I was a bit afraid to ask about. We let the open windows cut at our cheeks and fly through our shirt hair, its lash like a powerful stimulant to go faster, be battered with more of it. It held us in its grasp. But although I punched it to get to people who needed to be saved, it didn't hurt to have a little extra zip to my attitude. The snatch and curl of Cas's hair in the wind turned with his head as he looked out the window. Maybe Sammy would never really understand about them, but then again, maybe he didn't need to. He didn't act much different. Just a lot less surprised. Good, too. He didn't want to have to beat up his own brother… more than a couple times.

The neighborhood was up ahead. I peeled through the turn like a maniac and slid to a nice solid finish beside the house. Cas and I were out at the same time, slamming our doors in unison, and we ran up to the door and banged on it. "Mr. Davis?" I shouted. After no one answered, Cas pointed to the cars in the driveway. None had moved. I kicked in the door, and brandished my pistol. Sam came in at our backs, covering Cas, who held the demon knife with bravado.

We split up. Each room was empty. The house was torn to shreds, though, every bookshelf tossed down and every piece of glass broken. There was paper and books everywhere - especially all over the stairs. And stamped onto the paper like a trail were hoof prints. My heart dropped like a rock into my gut. "Bran?" I called, barreling up the stairs, gun pointed at the sky. I kicked open a locked door into a kid's room and looked around desperately. "Bran, come on man, please be here." Soft crying caught my ears. Relief washed through me, as did guilt, as I fell to my knees by a big toy chest and lifted the lid. Inside was the seven year old. He was curled up around the harp half his size, crying softly, his eyes reddened and his nose ruddy. I felt my heart strings tugged as I lifted him out and held him in my arms. The harp was damn heavy. "Hey, buddy," I said gently, sinking down on the edge of his bed. "It's all right. I've got you now." He buried his face into his harp and continued to cry – the heart-breaking, hapless cry of an orphan. I knew that cry.

Cas appeared in the doorway, and came at once to my side. The boy left his harp with me and curled onto Cas's lap, burying his head in the crook of his neck. Castiel cradled him, and looked at me with hard eyes. We both knew his father was gone.

"I found Mr. Davies," came a call, and I touched Cas's knee and left him with the kid. Downstairs, Sammy was standing over Mr. Davis's mutilated corpse right outside the back door, covered in hoof prints. "The cops won't mistake this one." He said quietly, and I rubbed my face.

"All right. We have the kid and the harp. This thing strikes again and we lose another family, I'm gonna send it to Hell myself."

Sam looked at me with wide eyes. "You found the kid? Is he all right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, he's all right - he's in one piece anyway. Cas's taking care of him."

A kid on his own without his dad. We knew that feeling. After making sure the house was empty one more time we talked about it. We decided it was a good idea to bring the kid in on this now that his dad was gone. All of us gathered in his room, and by that point Cas had worked his magic and Bran was blowing his nose in a tissue, sitting beside him on the bed. Cas put a hand on the boy's back. "Bran," he said in his low voice. "We are hunting the monster that killed your father, and did this to your home."

"It's the Mari Lywd," the boy sniffed and lifted his eyes to us. "I know it is. It wants our signs."

I nodded, looking him over. He seemed so old for his age. Like Ben almost, only tiny. "That's right, kid. And you're the only guy who can stop it."

Bran looked shocked. "Me?" He stammered.

Cas nodded. "You can play the harp?" The boy's white head bobbed. "We need you to play the creature a lullaby. It will seal it away forever."

"I-I don't know if I can."

"Trust us," Sam cut in. "We'll protect you. We know you can do this."

His little face turned to each of us in turn, a blank sort of determination in his bright eyes, and he nodded. "I'll need to pick one. I only know three."

"Which is about Wales?" Cas piped up, and the kid looked at him. "That's the one we need."

Seeing him being so good with Bran was refreshing. I liked kids, I just never had the patience for them. After raising Sammy I figured I was done with kids for a while, until I met Ben and Lisa, but that was over now. It was nice knowing if I couldn't be on the ball with a kid, that Cas could. He held his hand out to the car and sat in the back with him, the harp stashed in a bag in the trunk. I watched Cas comfort the boy while I spoke with Sam on the lawn, sighing, hands on my hips. "Well, we're his new folks now I guess. Until we can find somebody to take him in."

"No," Sam corrected. "We're kidnappers. He'll be missing when the police get here, and he's in our custody without permission."

I waved my hand. "We don't have time for niceties. Who's the next family?"

Sam flipped out his phone. "I'll get the address and call the others."

He walked off and I went to the car, leaning on the open window to the back. Cas was in the seat With Bran's head in his lap, a thick quilted blanket taken from his room covering the kid up, and a hand resting on his white hair. I just smiled warmly, and he returned it, worry keeping the edges from pushing up too far. "Dean," he said softly, and I smiled.

"No, you can't keep him," I whispered, and crossed my arms on the car door. "He can sleep on the way." We both looked down at him, the tiny shoulder rising and falling, and I swear I had never seen a braver kid.


	25. Surrogates

Back at the motel, Cas was watching Bran draw at the table when I came in with breakfast. They were both bent over his picture, elbows on the table, pointing and talking quietly over what should and shouldn't be put in. They fit together so well. Like a surrogate parent and an adopted orphan. It gave me an ache in my chest for rug rats of my own – our own now, I guess. But it was pushed aside. In my hands I balanced the fruit of my food run, the hot grease staining the bottom of the brown paper bag and burning my fingers. In my other hand was a flat white box. I figured it was better to go out and come back than expose a kid who just lost his dad to the world – especially when that thing might be after him still. With a smile crinkling the edges of my eyes I held it out when they looked up at the sound of the lock clicking open. "I brought doughnuts," I said proudly, all cheer and sunshine, shutting the door with my foot. Bran cleaned the table off and I set the breakfast bag down. A big container of pancakes and eggs, a variety of sausage and bacon, an orange juice and two beers. Not to mention a box of raspberry filled glazed beauties. "Man I love breakfast," I mumbled as I divvied out the plates and forks.

Morning light streamed through the open windows. It was strangely warm outside – even as I live and breathe I'd never seen any weather like this. Bran had slept in Sam's empty bed, and Cas and I had managed to snatch a few good hours of sleep in mine, between bouts of being worried about the white haired bundle not far away. There were no questions from short stuff this morning as Cas and I took turns in the bathroom, moving around and cleaning, preparing for the day. Our hands touched. Our eyes met. I even snatched a kiss from the fallen angel a few times, unable to rest without one. After a night hard at work before this, last night had been just as taxing and half as relieving. But it was good to know Bran was safe, and that he didn't see anything wrong with our behavior. At least kids were sympathetic.

Making sure Bran got a bit of everything, I did the same with Cas, lecturing him when he tried to eat the entire box of doughnuts on his own. His appetite was amazing. There were no leftovers. But I was just glad to see the kid get something in his stomach, even if he hardly ate as much as I'd hoped. It was just drive-through stuff, but it was something. Once we were all sated, even the endless pit that is Cas's human stomach, I sat back in my chair and sipped my beer. "So, whatcha been drawing, Branny boy?"

"Angels," Bran grinned disarmingly, and I blinked. "Angels and forest spirits together." Man, this kid liked taking people off guard.

I nodded to the stack. "Can I see?" As he dug through them I looked over at Cas and he returned it with equal amounts of warmth. There was something about him. A spring in his movements, a light in his eyes. He was almost glowing as he turned to watch Bran pour over his favorites. They were all on notebook paper, from a discarded notebook I'd found in the trunk, above the false bottom.

"This is Castiel," Bran lifted one of them up and held it out to me. A surprisingly accurate stick figure with two blue marker dots as eyes and a spry of black hair on his head, his trench coat covering all of him. He had magnificent white wings that were hap-hazard but pretty damn good.

"Amazing, kid," I chuckled as I took the offered art. "You even got the hair right." Bran wiggled in his seat, grinning, and when I looked up Cas was smiling as he watched him. His laugh lines colored extra emotion into his eyes. I cracked a smile myself and motioned to the picture. "What about those spirits?" I asked eagerly, leaning forward. If there was any good way to distract this kid, I was gonna take it.

With clumsy kid fingers Bran showed me another one of a forest of brown and green marker lines, and a light blue stick figure wandering around in the back. "They look after the trees," he explained, "they make sure they have enough light and water and that they're healthy enough for birds to live in."

"That's a pretty big job," I raised my eyebrows at him.

His silver head bobbed. "They've been doing it ever since the earth was born. God sent them because we can't talk to the trees like they can. We can only see it when they're dying – and it happens so slowly that we can't really realize it until it's too late." My eyes skimmed over the trees. "The trees need them." There was a point to the face of the spirit, its eyes purple dots that bore into me. "Sometimes, they even take in human children, and raise them to care for the trees when there are too many for them to take care of."

Marveling at this kid, I jumped when my phone rang, and Bran took the pictures back and organized them again. Flipping my phone to my ear, I rose, putting a hand on Cas's shoulder before walking to the door. "Yeah, got anything?"

"Yup," came Sam's voice. "Ted and Sasha found the signs at a family's house called the Prenton's, but they're staying with the family. Since taking the signs doesn't stop them from being killed, they are searching for more clues to the how's and why's using that book you found, and standing guard. They're only an hour or two East of here."

"Give me the address and we'll meet you there."

"Is the kid even ready?"

I glanced back at Bran and Cas, who were watching me with similar childlike curiosity. Shooting them a fake smile, I looked away. "Everything is under control."

"All right," he replied grudgingly, and prattled off some house in the suburbs of another city.

I scribbled down the address on my hand and nodded. "Ok, Sammy. We're on our way. And keep those friends of yours on a leash," I snapped. "They even look at Cas the wrong way and I will punch them to Timbuktu."

"Dean."

"I'm not kidding, Sam."

An exasperated sigh crackled over the line. "Fine. I'll talk to them. See you in a bit."

I hung up satisfied, and turned to the pair at the table. Cas blinked. I shot him a wink and put my hands on my hips. "Get saddled up, boys. We're heading out."


	26. Childhood

Dean drove as fast as he could without conceivably jostling the two bodies in the back beyond comfort. The roads were pretty empty for lunch hour – usually when everybody is packing to get back work – and every now and then Dean's eyes would meet mine in the rearview. I shifted my eyes to the child in the seat alongside me. He refused to be too far from my side for any length of time. Even when I had to clumsily go through the human ritual of bathing and shaving he was sitting outside the door, bunched up against the wall with a fistful of markers and paper. His eyes were intent out the opposite window, though, which gave me time to observe him being still. Children were so energetic. Their minds leaped from one subject to the next and yet explored points of interest thoroughly, without tact.

I had grown attached to him. His disarming defense against emotional trauma was admirable and quite impressive in one of his youth. Every movement he made towards me was calculated. Each smile was genuine. I had never come into contact with a mind so good at manipulation and yet so averse to using it. He was still a child – maybe he couldn't control it – but he was wise beyond anything I could conceive. It was certainly there, and very strong. He knew his way around a person's head without ever having a psychic link, and if he was using his gifts on me, I was unaware. I adored the way he drew the simplest things and yet had such vast power behind their meanings. I watched with rapt attention as he would describe things from folklore and from society to me. What little time we'd had together had given me a glimpse into the mind of an innocent, unburdened human, with so much power and yet so much humility. The mischief glinted in his eyes when he would get rowdy with his markers and pelt me with them, but his apologies were complete and so were his hugs.

So much infinity in such a small form.

Dean's glances made me aware this affection I held for Bran was obvious, and I was not ashamed of the thought. It gave me more reason to wish to keep him from harm. But there was something there, something deeper in Dean's eyes when he saw me looking and smiled. The crinkle in his eyes was emotional like I'd never seen. Was Dean admiring my paternal abilities? Did it please him? I was unsure, for my signals were dulled significantly with my mortality burden I had acquired. But the feeling I got in my belly each time I got a glimpse of that smile seemed to be proof enough.

Halfway there, Bran woke with a child's unabashed yawn. After that he became immediately incorrigible. He was all over the seat, bouncing and asking questions, his little hands either clutching at my coat and tie, or at the windows. He giggled and came from the window to hop into my lap, his weight making me release of a whoosh of painful air. I got very little coherent conversation out of him.

"Cassy?" The silver-headed child piped. "When did you know you were in love with Dean?"

Cassy. My heart melted. So, he had noticed. I took his small hands and inspected them. Clean, small, and tightly gripping my fingers. "Well. When I realized how much I would miss him if he left, I suppose."

He bounced twice in place eagerly, his golden eyes glowing. "Will you get married? Will you have babies, too? Would you be the pregnant one? I don't think Dean would be the pregnant one."

"Hey," Dean called from the front seat. "I can be the pregnant one if I want."

It took all I had not to break into guffaws. "Well, since we're boys, we'll have to go to the right state if we want to get married. Then we can take in any baby we want." I locked eyes with Dean in the mirror. "If we want." He looked away, but I could tell he was just nervous at the thought.

"But one of you has to be pregnant to have a baby." Bran protested.

"Well, usually, yes. But not with us. Ladies sometimes have babies they don't want, or some babies lose their parents. We'll take those babies and give them homes."

"Oooooooohhhhh," Bran drew out, hands moving to my tie. As he fiddled with it I looked up to see Dean's reaction, curious. The nerves were less obvious now. The nostalgia on his face made it clear he was picturing himself with rug rats of his own. Or, maybe even, us with rug rats.

"What about you, Bran? Do you ever want to get married and have babies?" I questioned.

He made a face. "I don't think so. Too much work." Dean and I laughed together, and I ruffled Bran's hair.

"That's a good way to start. With what you want," I said, and tickled him. He giggled furiously, writing in my lap, and I wrapped him in a hug. "What about…. Pets?" I asked, letting him go. He rolled over onto his back on the car seat and blew bangs from his face.

"A dog. I want a dog."

"Really?"

"Yes. A white one, like my hair." He traced patterns on the car ceiling. "I want him to be named Cafall."

I never did get a straight out of him as to why that was, and after that he continued to be incoherent.

* * *

_Please don't forget to review whatever chapters you feel are necessary. I do enjoy your opinions... thoroughly._


	27. Parenthood ?

When we arrived, the others were already there. Eric and Nate were making a perimeter. Ted stood to the side on the phone, and Sasha was most likely inside explaining to the family. Sam's car was right in front of where Dean pulled in, and we all climbed out, Bran clinging to his harp and to my hand. The house was large, and in the middle of the country, a few miles from the highway. Three stories of pure white chipping paint and weathered windows. The porch was full along the front, and a porch swing creaked in the wind. It was foreboding. We had driven all day to arrive here - it was nearly seven. Darkness slid along the shadowy ground, the thick clouds overhead foreshadowing further animosity to come.

Dean led us up to the house, climbing the porch steps and knocking on the door. Sam answered it, nodding for us to come in. Ted cast me a look and I returned it with similar bravado. No one messed with Dean. And messing with me messed with Dean. I turned my eyes forward and brought Bran inside. The door shut behind us. At the table in the well-lit dining room was a family – three daughters, and two parents. The women at once took to Bran and I stood with him while they fawned over his hair and his eyes. It softened my heart to see him so elated. I looked to Dean, who was having a harsh chat with Sam, and was reluctant to leave the child to intervene.

A hand on my arm drew my attention. "I knew Davis had a son, but not one so darling," the southern farmer's eldest daughter drawled, smiling at me, and retracted her touch.

"His father is no longer with us," I replied quietly, so Bran did not hear.

"I know," the girl replied sadly. "We would take him in, but we haven't got much to give." Sighing, she motioned to her sisters. They all looked to be two years apart, both dressed as if ready to go out to a strip club to work, but they were most likely just going to a high school party. Both were very pretty, with thick red hair cascading down their backs and blue eyes. "We put what we have into making sure they don't turn into strippers."

Well then. I simply nodded, uncomfortable, and she turned to me.

"Will you be taking him as your own? You and your boyfriend?"

That gave me quite a start. I stared at her. What gave it away? I thought about my clothes, my walk… "What gave you…?"

"Male model walks in, looking like an angry dad, and watches you watching Bran instead of my slutty little sisters in their skimpy clothes?" She gave me a look. "Honey I may be southern but I'm not brainless. If they're legal, they're man magnets. Your Sam has been eyeing them all night." I made a mental note to scold Sam about girls far too young for him. "So, will you take this angel in?"

I'm sure she was unaware of her words. She stroked Bran's hair when he came running over and he looked up to me, grinning. "Charlie likes my harp," he giggled, and I found myself smiling down at him.

"Maybe you can play for her, Bran." I offered. His face lit up as his mind expanded into a plethora of ideas and he scrambled back to the sisters, who even in their outlandish outfits were acting like mothers over him. I stared after him. "I don't think so." I replied.

The eldest sister's brown eyes narrowed. "Why?" She leaned her elbow on the table and looked me over judgmentally. "Too good to be a dad?"

"Of course not," I said sadly, and sank down into a chair beside her, a sigh escaping my lips. Across the table, her parents were discussing something avidly with Sasha in hushed tones. I looked back to the elder sister. She was more conservative, but just as beautiful as her sisters, with more kindness in her face. A thick-waisted woman with clear signs of childbirth. She was once a mother. "Our line of work is too dangerous for children." I explained. "We are unprepared to take him in; he would be in danger, and…" I licked my lips. "And Dean has paternal difficulties. His own father was… different. I am unsure if he wishes for children." Light, clumsy harp music began to dance from Bran's fingertips against his golden instrument.

Her messy bun bobbed as she nodded, sighing as I had. "I understand. It's just… he adores you already. When did you even meet him?"

"Yesterday. I think." I murmured, half-listening to both her and the music.

"Cas?" Dean's bow-legged footsteps were distinct in my ears, even in a crowded home, and I turned to see him standing beside me. His usual warm smile and laughing eyes were cold and hard. Preparing for the worst. But his hand on my shoulder was loving in its grip. "You, me, and Sam will look after the kid. His body guard group – the defense, and he'd our goalie. The others are on offense outside."

I nodded eagerly. "Understood."

He bobbed his head, shooting the sister a polite nod. "This son of a bitch is gonna get ganked tonight. It's just a matter of when." He looked to the others, who were staring at him now. "We know they strike after dark, so anytime at all, it could come barreling in here," he said loud enough for them to hear. "We will protect you, but you have to do what we tell you to. We want everybody to get through this without a scratch. All right? We're damn good at what we do, but we can't do anything if you won't cooperate." His commanding tone and deep voice sent chills down my spine. When he put himself in charge, it was always an impressive sight. They all exchanged looks, murmuring, and looked back at him with real determination, nodding. "Good." He smiled. "Then consider yourselves safe."


	28. Kids, man, kids

Dean shook my shoulder a bit. "Can I talk to you alone, buddy?"

"Of course," I replied, getting up and waving gently to Bran before following him out the back door. He shut it gently behind us. It was clear in his posture he was nervous, rubbing his face and glancing around the yard. I observed him with curiosity. "What is it, Dean?" There was a question weighing on his shoulders. He was very handsome constantly, but the driving-wearied, leather-scented man of strong will and unsure anxiety before me was incredibly fetching. I resisted the urge to reach out and embrace him, and will him to be at peace. I knew he would not be calmed now, not with lives at stake.

Dean turned right to me, his eyes locking onto mine, and my heart skipped a beat. "After this is all over, Cas… Bran has to go." He held his hands out openly. "I know you like the kid, and believe me, I do too, but-"

"Dean," I interrupted, "I did not plan on keeping him." He looked at me, swallowing, and nodded. Obviously he figured he had read me wrong. He hadn't. In fact… I shook my head. "I want to," I explained honestly, "with everything I've seen and done, I know he would be a strong link between you and I. We would do him justice if we chose to raise him together. You would make an amazing father." Seeing the hope and surprise restored in his eyes made me smile. "But I know… we are not ready. We barely know what we're doing together, let alone how to bring a child into the picture. If it were any time down the road when we weren't grasping for straws in the dark…" I trailed off, and he nodded, running his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know. I know. I just… you look so damn happy, with him. Like… well… never mind, I guess it's silly to think about it now. You're right." The way he shook the thought from his mind – quickly, as if cutting a string you were extremely hopeful could remain taunt - made me realize how much he really had wanted to see me and Bran stay together.

I pictured it. Out on the road, driving for days, eating gas station burgers, drinking juice boxes together, and eating a bag of gummy worms that would spill sour dust all over the black leather. Dean licking his fingers as he tried to maneuver the steering wheel to change lanes. Map in my lap, squinting at it around the drawings scrawled along its edges. A canvas bag of kid books, and shoes and clothes would be pushed under the seat. Pillows would litter the back floor. A blanket would be bunched up around the seatbelt holder. Soft snoring when Bran fell asleep, and long hours of a sore neck just turning to watch him breathe and make sure he was all right. Another childhood spent in the back of the Impala. But then when we stopped… Hotel rooms, smeared with marker drawings and covered in toys… Locked doors… Hours alone… Guns in a duffel bag, salt at every window, the sound of the car pulling away while they ran off to solve another case… I could not picture ever leaving him alone.

"Our life is no life for a child," I said to ease his mind, well aware of his own childhood. "Your experience with it is proof enough to both of us. Bran will be happier here. Or with more stable parents. In a house, with a dog, and maybe siblings to teach him how to live. Not in the back of a car, possibly crying while you drive to the hospital at top speed, me clumsily stitching up a slash in your stomach."

"I know." Dean said curtly, and I realized I had upset him. Before I could apologize he held up his hand. "It's ok, I know," he said quietly. "I just…" He heaved another sigh and drew up to me, putting his hands on my waist and looking down at my tie. "You were so happy looking after him, you know? You're not a chick, man, but… you make a damn good mom." He lifted his eyes to smile at me, and I felt a lump in my throat. "But hey. We still got time. Maybe later, we'll run into another kid who needs two dads and an angry uncle."

Nodding, I reached out and gently grasped the lapel of his jacket, sighing. "I'm sorry it couldn't be now."

"That's ok. Besides, now I get to picture you with kids all the time, now that I know what you look like." He teased. "Although, not gonna lie, you'd totally be the pregnant one. You know how I hate to be waited on."

Laughing, we touched our foreheads together, grinning like idiots. Kids. Just last week I'd been cramming my head with pictures of cases just to keep Dean from swimming through my thoughts, and now all I could picture was Dean spoon-feeding an infant and chasing a toddler around a gas station store, his hands full of food for his family. Us together was now a reality. Would this be, as well? Us, with a family? My thoughts hazed. I was lost on that word. Family. I wasn't aware of what it took to raise a family. Well, I had Jimmy's memories, but I knew no family was alike. I hoped Dean would be able to teach me. Maybe I would even learn as I went along.

I looked up at him, and his green eyes drank me in. I could feel my chest being filled with a searing hot warmth that crept up my ribcage, dripping off my veins and swirling around my lungs, filling all my cracks and crevices with hope and love and determination. I felt what humans felt. I knew now why they live. All the reasons they fight and love and die. And I loved it. I loved Dean. It would never be easy, but it would always just be.

His face tilted sensuously. This time around I let him ease into the kiss, savoring the sweet moment between our lips, and sank into it. His lips were so perfectly shaped. Like a work of art. His touch was firm as he pulled my body against his own, and we meshed and parted each time like warm clockwork. The passion dancing along his tongue was edged with nerves. Grasping his stiff lip between my teeth, I felt him shudder in pleasure as I coaxed the stress from his mouth. It would take much more to drain his stress entirely. But it was a simple gift I could muster.

When we had drawn back, and were hovering, waiting for the other to pull the both of us back to reality, a loud crash yanked us back into the here and now by the collars of our shirts.


	29. The Creature

I bolted. Cas ran after me into the house, and he heard me cock my gun as I went. Eyes flashing, I sprinted through the rooms, searching for the chaos, and in seconds we came onto it. The living room was full of swirling wind and darkness, a portal in the window screaming with power. Everyone was either screaming on the floor or pointing guns at the portal, and I grabbed the older sister Cas had been talking to, who was cowering under her chair.

"Get everyone upstairs!" I shouted. "Now!" She scrambled to obey as I turned to the others. "Where is Bran?" Sam pointed behind me where Castiel was carrying him from his hiding place at the back of the room. Cas brought him to me and we both exchanged a worried look. I looked down at the kid, reaching out to wipe the terrified tears from his face. "It'll be ok, Bran," I yelled over the noise. "We'll be right here – both of us." The steel in the kid's eyes impressed me. His little head bobbed.

"Are you ready?" Cas asked gravely.

"Yes," came the brave reply, his white hair whipping.

"DEAN!" Sam cried, and we whirled to see something stepping out of the portal.

The Mari Lywd was twice the size of a horse, but with a distinctly horse-like skeleton. The thing was gnarly. The bones moved on their own as if suspended by wire – one bony hoof crunched into the living room floor, and the leg and chest followed it. A cracked and dirty skull hovering through the darkness as well, making me realize the whole thing was bloodstained and browned with ancient dust. There was a huge, torn red ribbon wrapped loosely through all its bones – it wound through its ribs like a tapestry and fluttered in the wind wildly out behind it. It smelled like death and dirt and wind and when its jaw cracked open a blood-curdling roar ripped through the room.

I'm not gonna lie, it was a damn scary piece of work. Something from it infected us. Terror that did not belong to me pricked my eyes and my blood and made me feel trapped, as if I were a fly in a web. I shivered and all of us lifted our guns and began to shoot. It cried out in pain with each bullet and writhed, but did not look like it was gonna stop. "Cas, Bran," I cried, but when I turned both of them the room was empty. My eyes blew wide in shock. "Cas, Bran!" I shouted wildly, whirling to sprint out of the room. I left the others at the mercy of the monster as I ran outside through the back door. Something was wrong. They hadn't just-

"Stop!" Came a sharp bark from Mr. Prenton, the father of the family. He was standing in the middle of the back yard with his family gathered behind him. There was malice in his face and a twisted grin on his lips. What forced my heart into my throat was the fact that he had Castiel by the neck, his face bloodied and his hand cradled against his chest as if it were broken. His eyes were wild with fight and worry. They had taken Bran from him by force. One of the daughters held the kid, and the other held his harp. The oldest hovered beside her mother and father, eyes haunted.

I parted my lips in shock. "You did it," I snarled. "You brought that thing into the homes of those people! Ripped apart their lives, their families!" I looked at the older sister accusingly. "Tell me why!"

"My son," she wept. "The spell will return my son from the dead. The horseman was only supposed to take the signs – killing people was not in the contract. We… We didn't know!"

"But we started this," Mr. Prenton said darkly. "And we will finish it. We have no choice."

"You'll just let it kill all of us? All of you – for one kid?" I snapped. At their expressions, I laughed bitterly. "You think that thing will stop if you hand over your signs? It slaughtered those innocent people for no reason. It's a monster, and you've let it loose on your family, and on all of us. I'll be shocked if it actually does return your son."

"Even if it does," Cas gasped from his knees in the dirt. "Will you want him to be brought back on the same bloody ground where you slaughtered a dozen innocent people?" That really struck the sisters, and the mother. They looked to the father.

"Shut up," Mr. Prenton raged. "All of you! That thing will take the signs and this will be over! Just let it have them, and we'll have my grandson back!"

Cries and shots came from the house. I groaned. "Come on, people, you can't really believe that!" I cried, appealing to the mother and daughters, who all looked terrified. "My brother is in there, and some people who have nothing to do with this! Bran is just a kid – and Cas and me came here to save you. All of us did!" I held out my hand. "I know you're scared, ok? I know. I've been there. I've done worse, trust me. But please. Let's end this. There's no need for anybody else to die."

The stubborn darkness in Mr. Prenton had my heart twisting into knots. I saw his hand clench on Cas's throat, who choked. "Cas," I yelped. Then, in one swift motion, the older sister took the harp and swung it at her father's head. One blow to the temple and he crumpled like a sack of grain. I snapped from my shock, running over to them. "Tie him up, now," I ordered, and the sisters were crying as they took the rope I shoved at them. I turned to the older sister, who handed Bran the harp and handed him to me. I wrapped him in my arms and looked at her with unreadable eyes.

"Elizabeth," She whispered. "That's my name. And my son's name was Jacob." Stepping back, she knelt by Cas, helping him to his feet. "You were right. I can't bring him back like this. Not ever. Now go, destroy that monster."

With a pushing motion from Cas, I nodded, turning my back and sprinting into the house. "Ok, buddy, this is almost over," I said to Bran as I ran into the house. I ducked into the dining room. Sasha, Ted, and Nate were thrown about the room; some were through a table, one was through a wall. The wind tugged at my hair and my clothes, whipping papers and objects around the room, and I squinted through it as I turned. I bolted to the front room. The monster was on top of Sam in the foyer, teeth wrapped around his shotgun as he battled to get it off. "Let's do this, Bran." I shouted, a small wooden statue bouncing off the side of my head. Cuts and bruises blossomed across me as I was pelted by things. I shielded the kid with my body.

In my arms, eyes as wide as dinner plates, Bran clutched his harp with one hand, the other snapping out to caress all the strings at once. The music froze the wind. All the objects in the air plummeted to the ground. Everything was still except the echoes of the notes. Sam threw off the monster and scrambled to my side, back against the wall. I didn't move. His panting and the sound of my heartbeat filled the silence left by the faded melody. The thing got back to its feet, eyeing us warily, jaw cracked open. Bran took a deep breath and began to play, pressing the harp to his chest and coaxing a beautiful melody from its golden belly. His eyes began to glow. The Mari Lwyd shuddered and shook. Bran did not stammer, or miss a single note. A strange air began to emanate from his body, seeping into me and the room and the silence. It was old. Dusty. Clear. And full of light.

The Mari Lwyd gave a roar and clawed the hardwood floor, pushing deep gnashes into its smooth surface. Bran played faster and faster, and the monster kicked off the floor and began to charge us, but Bran plucked the strings as if he were a thousand years old and had been playing this since he was born – as if he couldn't be stopped even if we tried. The energy flowed from his tiny arms through his tiny fingers and his music bled over the giant creature. I flinched as it hit the floor a foot in front of us and reared up, screaming, noise pouring over us, but Bran plucked one more string… and then stopped entirely.


	30. Taking the Lead

In that instant the thing burst into red flower petals with a big expansion of energy that knocked me off my feet. I flinched, and Bran's glow vanished. Everything suspended in the air from the creature's power clattered to the floor. Everything was still and silent once more. Sasha and Ted picked themselves up. Eric, who had been out on a perimeter check, had come running at the noise. Now he stood in the living room, staring at the hole in the wall Nate had made. There was blood everywhere. He was frozen, but Sasha yelped and scrambled to Nate's side. She looked him over frantically, checking his pulse, but he was dead. Stone cold. Ted walked by Eric after a glance through the doorway at me and went to gather her in his arms. She sank to her knees, he with her, and they were quiet. The shock was so tangible you could have cut it with a knife. He'd been so young.

Sam, gasping for breath at my side, looked up at me in alarm. My head recovered from shock and kicked into overdrive. "Bran," I said, and knelt to put the kid down and turning him to look at me. "Bran, you all right?" Pale, but looking normal again, the kid nodded and I returned it. "Sit down for a minute. That's my boy. Stay here with Sam, all right? I'll be back soon. Good job." I ruffled the kid's hair, and Bran sank down beside Sam, cradling his harp.

Then I turned and ran to get Castiel. "Cas?" I called gruffly, and when I got to the back door I almost smacked right into him. Cas was walking inside when I was running outside. We glanced by each other and I whirled back, approaching him with lengthy strides, hands out stretched. "Hey, are you hurt? What's broken?" He looked roughed up but determined.

"Just sprained," Cas replied with a relieved sigh. His throat was an angry red with fingerprints and he was bleeding from two slashes in his forehead, but his blue eyes were bright. I savored the relief I felt. "Bran?" He questioned.

Nodding, I took a look at the cuts on his forehead. "He's fine. He did great. It's dead." I glanced back at the family. They had the unconscious father tied up pretty well, and the girls were all consoling each other a few yards away. "You did pretty well with them. Much of a fuss?" I looked back at Cas and his head bobbed sadly. "Well, I'm glad you're all right," I said quietly. "We lost Nate, though." We both held a moment of silence. Then, sighing, I reached over and grasped his shoulder, giving it a warm shake. "You go inside. I'll deal with these people."

"I will handle them Dean," Cas said, surprising me, and I looked at him. His face was unreadable.

"All right. Ok." I conceded. "I'll be inside rounding them up, then." When I turned to go, he reached out with his good hand and snared my sleeve, and I turned back in alarm. "Cas?" I questioned. His face was flushed, and he moved as if he was unused to feeling the way he felt.

"You were so worried about me," he blurted. "I… I always used to see your soul when I looked at you, Dean, and it was really just… beautiful. But I've never seen anything like you, back there. I didn't like causing it, but that expression on your face…"

I blushed, nodding without looking at him. "I… thank you." I tried, glancing up at his tired smile. "Just try not to do it again, ok?" At my sad smile, he returned it gently and nodded. Seeing him hurt when he was so vulnerable had really been jarring. I could never forget how dangerous this job was, but with him so… human… it was like a slap to the face. He couldn't heal if he got hurt anymore. He'd have to get a cast for his hand and everything. Weird. Just… weird.

I saw in his eyes that he wanted my touch but didn't know how to ask, so at his hovering expression, I wrapped him in my arms, careful to avoid his hurt hand. "And if I was 'back there,' how did you see me? You didn't even look when I was that busy." I murmured seductively into his ear, in an attempt to ease the tension in both of us. When I drew back enough to see it, he had the most innocent turned-on expression I'd ever seen. Score.

"I was a celestial being," he offered, and I laughed.

"Maybe I'll show you that expression sometime, too," I added, and he dissolved into shocked innocence again, making me grin. "Go take care of them. Then we can talk about wrapping things up here." He nodded, bewildered with lust, and walked off.

I left him with the family and went back inside. Sam was up and about, and I went to him, looking him over. "You all right?" I asked, and he nodded. We both glanced over at Bran, who was sitting on the steps with a glass of water, a bit more color in his cheeks.

"Yeah, just out of breath. That kid was…" Sam made a noise of admiration. "He was pretty tough."

I nodded. "Yeah. How are the others?" Looking at me, he shook his head wearily, and we exchanged a mutual understanding of sympathy for them.

Walking into the living room, I left Sam with Bran again as I went to the remaining trio. They were standing around the hole in the wall talking in low tones. "He was a good kid," I said as I approached, and they all turned to me with sad eyes. I met each and every gaze there, nodding. "You are all good hunters. You know the life, and so did he. There's no more honorable way to go." I sighed. "We'll help you if you'd like to give him a hunter's funeral."

"We'll ship him home to his mother," Sasha said numbly. "She'll cremate him and bury him with his other family."

"Ok." I said quietly, glancing at her. "Take as long as you need. We'll help you out when you're ready." Meaning we'd wrap his body up and put it in their trunk for him. A lot less… ceremonious sounding. They nodded with appreciation.

I walked back to Sam and Bran and sat beside him on the stairs, rubbing his back. "How do you feel, kid?"

He looked up at me with dazzling eyes. "Like a monster slayer," he grinned.

Smiling, I put a hand on the back of his neck comfortingly. "Well you do Dean a solid and avoid monsters from here on out, got me cupcake? I don't want you chasing down any more. You did your part."

He pulled an unhappy face. "Yessir."

"Good man."

Cas appeared in the hall with the girls. I rose, approaching him, and he drew me aside as the girls sat around Bran. "They're all in agreement. The mother and father are moving upstate, somewhere remote, and the girls will fix up the house and stay here. Together." He sighed. "That man will get what he deserves. His wife is quite infuriated."

"All right. Good job. We'll wrap Nate up and send him home with his friends. Now all that's left is…" We both looked to Bran, and our hearts ached in unison, I felt it. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine. "We'll send him to the station, let them work out the legalities." Nodding sadly, Cas looked at his shoes, and it broke my heart.

We packed our things and wrapped up Nate in a plastic tarp or two and when everything was cleaned up, we burned the signs in the side yard. Then we gathered on the family's front porch, hunter and civilian alike. "Untie him after we go," I said to the girls, and beside me Bran was leaning against my leg, his big eyes looking up at us. "We'll take care of the kid." They thanked us, and apologized profusely before we were able to get away. They would live forever knowing what they'd done. That was punishment enough, Sam and I agreed. And on the way to the car, I let Cas take Bran and Sasha came up to me as her two boys climbed into their SUV. She gave me a smile and I realized then how pretty she was, and how often she'd tried to smile at me before and I'd missed it. I really was whipped by an angel.

"Dean, I want to say, thank you for helping us with Nate. And I'm sorry. We're sorry." Sasha said sincerely after we'd shaken hands. "Seeing your work in there, we know now we shouldn't have been so quick to judge you and Castiel. We're bitter people, but there is no excuse."

I looked her in the eye and smiled sadly. "You're right. We do it so often that we get pretty numb to what we're really saying, but there is no excuse for the kind of judgmental shit we pull on different folks." Nodding, I squinted at her. "It shouldn't be my work that causes your change of heart. I'm no better than anyone else; I'm just good at saving lives. It's our humanity that should make you feel like it's wrong to judge." She nodded, and it was clear the message had gotten across. We shook hands again before parting ways. She left then, climbing into their SUV.

I went to my car and Sam was there. He looked me in the eye and I smiled at him sheepishly. "Going with them?" I saw it in his eyes that he was leaving again. _Just like dad_, I thought to myself. I forced that thought out of my head and the depth of sadness that came with it as well. "Well, all right. I wish you guys luck. Call us if you need a hand again," I held out my hand to shake his but he just chuckled and wrapped me in a hug, warming my heart.

"You're still a jerk off," he said, and I hugged him back as he crushed my torso. "But you're also still my brother." When he pulled away we laughed and he stepped back. "Take care of yourselves."

"You too, Sammy." The pride in my chest welled up into my eyes as I watched him nod and walk away, climbing into the SUV. I sighed and climbed into the driver's side of the Impala. Cas had buckled Bran in the back and was in the passenger's seat, watching me. I shot him a smile and cranked the engine over. Almost finished off this case.


End file.
